


The Tip of the Icing

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, HP: EWE, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-27
Updated: 2007-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:46:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's successful cake/pastry career brings an old nemesis as a new client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This had been written for [](http://enchanted-jae.livejournal.com/profile)[**enchanted_jae**](http://enchanted-jae.livejournal.com/) 's birthday. I don't know how I managed to churn out twelve chapters of it, but here it is. Many people helped along the way, and I'm grateful to them, such as [](http://shebangsthedrum.livejournal.com/profile)[**shebangsthedrum**](http://shebangsthedrum.livejournal.com/).
> 
> A lot of the cakes I've written about were inspired from posts at [](http://thecakeblog.livejournal.com/profile)[**thecakeblog**](http://thecakeblog.livejournal.com/) , but I'm not sure if they're there anymore.
> 
> Special thanks [](http://winnett.livejournal.com/profile)[**winnett**](http://winnett.livejournal.com/) for reading over the outlines of the chapters and telling me what worked overall. I've been extremely lucky to have fantastic betas for my HD work, and she is one of them that makes everything work better.

Harry kept one eye on Dobby's enthusiastic movements with the sugar-roses while he set two piping tips to finish decorating the Granger cake. Hermione's parents were having their twenty-eighth wedding anniversary and Harry had offered to do the cakes and puddings. The Grangers had looked a little bemused when Harry had open his portfolio to show them the pastries he had done and Mr. Granger had offered him a small container of dental floss when they had finished choosing their sweets.

"Just to keep around," he had said brightly to Harry, who had pocketed it without laughing.

He checked his list, ticking off what had already been done; the tiny individual strawberry cheesecakes were in the large silver refrigerator, the bread-and-butter pudding would be made tomorrow, a few hours before the party, to be served hot with custard; the anniversary cake itself, three tiers tall and golden, was nearly done. All it needed was the cascade of roses that would be magically affixed to the topmost cake, flowing down in a sweep to the bottom of the arrangement.

He grinned; the sugar content alone would have the Grangers handing out toothbrushes tomorrow.

There was a soft sound of bells and Harry brushed his hands together, getting rid of the fine sugar had clung to them. Checking to see that his smock was fairly clean, he stepped from the large warm bakery into the front section of his tiny shop, the welcoming smile on his face growing tight as he saw who his prospective clients were.

The Malfoys; at least, Draco Malfoy and his children. Since his divorce from Lady Antonia Malfoy, Draco Malfoy's public presence had rivalled Harry's in levels of reclusive, emerging only to do his job of running the Potions testing department at the Ministry. No more extravagant parties that the Lady had been fond of throwing; no more grand soirees that were splashed on the front pages of _The Prophet_ , Malfoy's face a calm mask as his wife ( _ex-wife_ now, Harry's mind amended) flitted from guest to guest, her long dark hair swinging from side to side.

Harry had disliked her immensely; she had once referred to his beloved shop as _plebeian_ and, out of sheer malice, he had refused to cater a birthday party of hers, no matter how much of Malfoy's money she had the gall to offer. Harry had been inexplicably delighted when Parvati, on one of her weekly trips for meringue, had whispered that they were finally separating.

Now, he flushed as Malfoy gazed at him strangely, more than likely taking in how messy his hair still was, most likely decorated with a streak or two of flour. Each of Malfoy's hands were occupied; a little girl stood by his side, her small hand gripping his larger one as Malfoy shifted a tiny boy slung comfortably his other arm. Both children had the distinct Malfoy features, the wide grey eyes, and the sharp chin; the baby, however, had hair that was as black as Harry's, obviously taking that from his mother. There was a small house-elf standing behind them, a basket in its wrinkled hands. Harry was more than a little surprised that Malfoy was walking _with_ his children, instead of having them trail behind with the house-elf. He looked very... _paternal_.

The little girl spoke up suddenly, brushing blond wispy hair out of her eyes.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," she intoned politely. "My name is Iolanthe Malfoy and I would like a cake."

 _Merlin, what a name_ , Harry thought and smiled faintly down at her, opening his mouth to speak. The baby in Malfoy's arms pulled his thumb out of his mouth and addressed Harry as well.

"Ricky want cake!" the baby crowed and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Aelric, no shouting," he admonished and gave Harry a frosty smile. "Good morning, Potter. I had forgotten this was your establishment."

"Did you?" Harry said with an acidic smile. "I'm sure you've heard of me from your wife."

"I don't know if Daddy did," Iolanthe said sadly. "My mommy doesn't live with us anymore."

Malfoy used a few seconds to glare at Harry, who felt abashed. He summoned his portfolio and went around the counter, inclining his head in invitation to one of the round tables that were scattered throughout the space that he had tried to make into a eating area, since quite a few of his patrons simply could not wait to go home and sample their purchases. The tables were old, but clean, helping to lend to the shops its comfortable, rustic air.

Iolanthe insisted on climbing onto one of her father's knees, helped up by the house-elf, as the boy was placed on the other; his little hands reached instantly for the small bunch of wildflowers that had been placed in the centre of the table. Malfoy pushed it further away with the side of his hand, smiling a little as the self-named Ricky yelled in indignation.

"He'll tear it to pieces," Malfoy explained and nodded to his little girl. "Go on, Io. Tell him how you want your birthday cake to be."

She shifted around so that she could place her arms on the surface of the table, settling into a serious look of debate. Harry met Malfoy's eyes over her head; his face was carefully blank, but the light eyes seemed to hold a sheen of amusement.

"Butterflies," Io declared and wrinkled her brow at Harry. "I want butterflies."

" _Please_ ," Malfoy murmured. Harry tried not to fall off his chair in shock.

"Please," Io repeated dutifully. Harry nodded, turning his attention to his portfolio, flipping the pages. He had done butterflies once...where _was_ it...ah, there. He turned it around and stood the portfolio upright, knowing that the photograph, being a Wizarding one, would show the bright sugar wings waving delicately. Io's eyes lit up.

"Yes, like those!" She grasped both edges of the thick book and pulled it a little closer. "Oh, but not so large. May I have them smaller, Daddy?"

"I'm not the one making them, Io," Malfoy said in that low drawling voice that Harry had always despised. Yet, now that it held an indulgent tone, it was very attractive; Harry kept his eyes firmly on Io's face as he felt Malfoy eyes rest on him. "I'm sure Mr. Potter is capable of making them any size you like."

" _Very_ capable," Harry said firmly. "And these are just plain colours. You can get them in polka-dots and stripes. Anything you like, Miss Malfoy."

"Io," the little girl said shyly, looking up at her father for permission. Malfoy nodded, bouncing her a little on his knee as a small smile flitted across the sharp features. "You can call me Io, Mr. Potter."

"Eye-ooohhh," The baby said in a soft, sleepy voice and grabbed after her long blond braid. They were all staring at Harry, even the baby, who was chewing contemplatively on the end of the braid. Malfoy noticed and pulled it out of his mouth, giving Harry time to collect his bearings. The weight of those grey gazes was heavy, especially Malfoy's. Harry could have sworn that Malfoy had glanced at his mouth, for a split second. He licked his lips; maybe he had some sugar on there. No, nothing like that at all. Strange, because now that he had done _that_ , those grey eyes had flickered to his lips again.

"Alright, Io." Harry gave her a charming smile, resolving to ignore Malfoy; Io grinned back, looking more like the child she was instead of a little adult she was obviously trying to be. Harry wondered if this was how Malfoy had looked at this age. "You may call me Uncle Harry, if you want."

"Alright." She went on to explain how many butterflies she wanted (26); how many tiers to be on her cake (3); and the colours to be used (violet and pink). Harry took notes while fending off Ricky's sudden interest in his quill. Ricky complained in babbling baby-talk to his father, who reached in the basket and gave the child a slice of fruit, encouraging him gently as the baby made a face.

"Come on, now," he heard Malfoy croon as Ricky fussed. "How will you know you won't like it if you've never tried it? Ah, see? Isn't that good?"

"I've all the information I need," Harry said, feeling a little shaky at this display of loving father, wondering just who Malfoy had as an example. Malfoy's love for his children was apparent, the way he smiled as Ricky devoured the papaya, the manner in which he gently set his daughter on the ground as he rose to his feet. Malfoy's family was small yet close; Harry felt a sense of longing burn in his chest, the same way it did when he visited the Burrow or his other friends.

"Kindly send the bill to my office," he said now, the cool of his voice contrasting so sharply with the warm tone that he had used with Io. Harry nearly shivered. "Io, have you ordered any other treats?"

"Uncle Harry can make anything else he thinks of, I don't mind." Io took her father's hand and grinned up at Harry. "Won't you?"

"Of course." Harry smile was still on his face as he glanced back up at Malfoy, who gave him a long unreadable stare... and then smiled slowly in return. His smile was a lot more predatory than Io's had been, looking as if he would like nothing more than to snack on Harry.

Harry's overactive imagination supplied him with an image of Malfoy nibbling gently on his bare shoulder; Harry ruthlessly squashed down that enticing picture. Malfoy had been _married_ , after all. It was very unlikely he would be interested in Harry. Even with his subversive actions in the war that had gotten necessary information for the Order to fight, they had conferred only a few times and spoken even less. It had been a war, Harry mused. He had been busy trying to live. Oh, now and again he would think about the straight fall of Malfoy's hair and if it felt as soft as it looked, but that was when he had been safely ensconced in his bed.

"Remember my bill, _Uncle Harry_ ," Malfoy called over his shoulder as they exited, jerking Harry out of his musings.

***

Harry spun the cake he was working on its dais and eyed the beaded line of white icing with a pleased eye. He liked doing this; it didn't take up too much of his concentration, yet he felt like he was sinking into a relaxing trance when doing it. He had always watched his aunt baking cakes while he did some menial task and while Petunia had not been the most motherly of figures, she was an excellent baker. He hadn't thought he'd do this after the war; He had retreated into his house, refusing to apply to the Auror training and one night, in a fit of boredom, had rifled through one of the Black family cookbooks (the only one that had not tried to tear out his jugular) and had whipped up a treacle tart cake, making it with sponge crumbs, following the directions carefully. It was like Potions and yet it wasn't, because he actually enjoyed the results.

Hermione had eaten three slices the next day before it had finally got through to her that Harry had made them himself.

"But this is excellent!" Her yell had been muffled by the bite of treacle tart in her mouth.

"Swallow, dear," Ron had said with a prim tone that he had certainly inherited from Hermione. "Harry, this is good. Maybe you can be like the twins? Start a shop or something."

"I can't believe how good these are." Hermione had peered at her half-eaten tart suspiciously, as if Harry had used some form of Dark Cake Magic on them. Harry simply pushed over a container of clotted cream and dreamed half-heartedly about opening a small bakery.

And now here he was. It had taken longer than he had thought it would have to set everything up the way he liked it, but he had made it. Hermione had found a course for him to do, to supplement the innate magic of his that made every cake turn out just as he imagined it should. His friends had been extremely supportive; the resurgence of marriages and celebrations had not been unwelcome either. He was kept busy and happy, doing something he liked; and it brought out a creative side in him that everyone, including himself, did not know existed.

He set aside the icing tube that he had been using to pipe a line of bulbs along the base of the cake and picked up a smaller one to insert tiny beads between each bulb. He could do this with his wand, of course, make everything go faster; but he really preferred doing it by hand; also, the cakes tended to taste different when magic was used. It could be just his imagination, but the flavour was slightly...flatter. He had no other way to describe it.

"That's very good," a voice spoke up from behind him, causing Harry to jump. He squeezed the tube a little too hard and a long unwanted line of icing oozed out onto his neat line. He made an annoyed gasp and turned to glare at whoever had dared invade the back of his bakery; he rolled his eyes at Malfoy, who stood staring at him from the open door.

"What are you doing here?" He turned back to inspect the cake and then sighed, reaching for his wand. With a twitch of his wrist, the messy white line melted away and the icing tube levitating to finish his task. Wiping his hands on the cloth that was tucked into the pocket of his tunic, he stepped expectantly towards Malfoy and tried to look accommodating. "Let's start over. How may I help you?"

"Much better," Malfoy said, the side of his mouth quirking up as he looked down at Harry. "I've bought you your cheque."

"Oh." Harry took the folded bit of parchment and opened it, noting Malfoy's elegant handwriting. He flicked his gaze up and blushed to find Malfoy staring at his face again. He brushed at his mouth experimentally and Malfoy's gaze took on a little of the warmth that was reserved for his children. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"Why would you ask that?" Malfoy tilted his head and blinked innocently at Harry, who gave an unwilling chuckle.

"It's just that...oh, never mind," he said, trying to sound a little cross as Malfoy grinned at him. Malfoy's teeth were even and white, causing Harry to bite his bottom lip, to hide that one of his teeth in the bottom row was slightly crooked. Mr. Granger was just about ready to drag him in to correct it, but Harry didn't mind it at all. At least, not until now, when he was faced with the dental perfection that was Malfoy. The Grangers would fall in love with him on sight.

Malfoy cleared his throat.

"Those tiny dessert samples you sent to my office were lovely," he said, looking as if he couldn't believe what he was saying. Harry could commiserate, really. "I think I'd like all of them with the cake. The chocolate éclair was particularly delightful."

"Thanks," Harry said, smiling slowly as Malfoy swept out, his face set in its usual harsh lines.

 _No-one_ could resist his éclairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry wiped his forehead and then pushed at his glasses, leaving a slight smudge of flour. He reached for the little towel hanging at his waist and wiped at the lens carefully; suppose.... _someone_ , anyone (not necessarily Malfoy, really) came 'round back and saw him like that?

Bad for business. Or something.

The bells above the door tinkled merrily and Harry heard Hermione shouting his name.

"Come around," he called back and she stepped through the double-swinging door, a small smile on her face. Her expression brightened as she took in Harry setting up the sweets on the transfer surface, the myriads of tiny cheesecakes surrounding the main cake like a sweet army.

"So, are we all set?" She practically skipped over, suddenly looking as if she was in school again, wild brown curls of hair escaping the tight knot at the back of her head; he frowned at her, mock-severe, as she made to pick up one of the cheesecakes. "Oh, _alright_. I'll wait for the party."

"That you shall. Is the table ready at your house?" At her nod, Harry drew his wand out of one of his deep pockets and tapped twice on the transfer surface. There was a pause and then everything on the gleaming white sheet began to fade, slowly. At Hermione and Ron's house, set up in the tiny back-yard, a table with a matching transfer-surface had been set up under a small white tent and this was where the cakes were surely making an appearance. Harry had arranged the surfaces himself yesterday, while Ron had been making sure the expanding charms were doing fine and all the chairs would fit. The party was the first Wizarding one held for Hermione's parents; they had wanted 'something small and magical' and Hermione had eagerly taken over the preparations, assisted by Molly. _Something small and magical_ had turned into a catered affair for fifty people, nearly all witches and wizards. Harry felt a pang as he recalled that Arthur would not be there to fire rapid questions at the Muggles.

Molly was probably over there now, blissfully choreographing quite a few bubbling pots; Ron would be seated hopefully at the counter, hoping for samples. As a matter of fact, now that the cakes were being transferred over there, Harry thought they should really hurry over, to secure it. He said as much to Hermione.

"Oh, you're right. Go on, go get ready and pop over as soon as you can." She stepped up as the last cheesecake vanished and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Harry. It all looks so good."

She Apparated, her face still wreathed in a grin and Harry spent a moment locking up the shop as Dobby set some cleaning charms. Harry had already let his customers know that he was closing early on this Saturday and he had been amused when some of them threw him dark looks and bought 'extra-rations'. Lavender had come over to pick up a lot of her personal favourites, shortbread biscuits, and Harry had realised that he knew more about his customers than he had thought, because he had them packaged and ready for her before she came in.

For example, Mrs. Widdershins loved it when Harry had French Friday. She would toddle in, resting heavily on her cane and clutching her purse in one claw-like hand, watching Harry with her beady little eyes as he placed six of the apple _tarte tatins_ in a small white box lined with grease-paper, accompanied by six of the white-chocolate rhubarb tarts. She would accept them with a contented smile and shrink the box to place at the very top of her early-morning shopping bag. Harry would make her change and watch her carefully as she hobbled back out.

"My husband was born in France," she had told him in a high little voice one day. "He loved to buy me these _tatins_ when we went on a visit."

And he knew just what Hope and Fern loved. His god-daughters, their hair caught up in long braids, would jump up and down excitedly as he gave them jam roly-polies. He would laugh as Ron stole one or two from either of his girls, chuckling at their cries of dismay. Ron himself was big on nearly _anything_ that Harry baked and it was gratifying to get approving sounds from Molly over a slice of chocolate fudge cake .

He found himself wondering what Malfoy preferred; did he still love chocolate, as he had when they were in school? Maybe he would like something with a hint of coffee as well, Harry mused as he Apparated to his own house. He was dawdling dreamily, turning over recipes in his head as he bathed and dressed, adding and subtracting ingredients until he came up with a combination he wanted to try. Something dark and moist, chocolate balancing delicately on the palate until the flavour of the coffee zipped in. He chuckled to himself, eyeing his socks drawer that Dobby loved to organise. Was he actually thinking of baking something like that, for Malfoy? He just might, actually.

He was about to Apparate when Dobby knocked on his bedroom door.

"Harry Potter, Mister Roberts is waiting in your living room." Dobby looked highly disapproving and Harry closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. "Must Dobby be showing Mister Roberts the door?" Dobby continued, looking up at Harry with big eyes, ears twitching fretfully. Dobby had never liked Frank Roberts; he always made a point of showing pictures of Frank's grown children whenever they appeared in _The Prophet_ with their father, noting aloud that _Harry Potter is being the same age as Frank Roberts' son and daughter._

"It's alright, Dobby," Harry said, smiling a little to cover his nerves. "I'll go see him."

Dobby gave him a look that was a hair short of a righteous glower and then popped out of sight. He would be watching though, somehow, Harry figured as he made his way down the narrow staircase and into his small living room.

"Harry," Frank said smoothly, uncrossing his legs and unfolding his long frame out of the squashy armchair. He came towards him, arms open in a confident bid for an embrace. Harry grasped onto one hand and shook it firmly as Frank looked down at their joined hands, a small smile curling around his lips. Without missing a beat, Frank raised their hands and placed a chivalrous kiss on the back of Harry's hand, lingering just a little too long. "Your shop, it was closed early today. I went to see you there."

"Yes," Harry gritted out, slipping his hand out of the warm, dry grasp. "I'm on my way to a party, actually."

"Ah." Frank tilted his head, long silver and black hair falling around his long face. "Haven't you missed me?"

"No. How is your wife?" Harry asked pointedly and Frank snorted. Harry marvelled how Frank always made a snort sound absolutely dead sexy; he wondered why the hell he hadn't just Apparated straight to the party. Instead he had chosen to come down and face the man who owned _Umwandeln_ , the Wizarding company that specialised in converting Muggle devices for use in magical homes and shops; nearly all of Harry's large appliances at the bakery had been worked on by _Umwandeln_ ; Frank had done the industrial range himself.

They had spent nearly six months as lovers before Harry had grown sick and tired of all the sneaking around. However, Frank was a persistent man; it was a very lucky thing that Harry was stubborn to a fault.

"I've left her in Paris with the children," Frank told him airily, giving him a heated gaze. "Shopping. Do you remember when we went to Paris?"

"Of course. It was a lovely vacation. But that was a whole other lifetime." Harry looked at him steadily and then smiled politely. "Nice to see you again, but I can't stay. I'm expected somewhere." He waited as Frank stared at him, raising his eyebrows in challenge. When Harry simply tightened his lips, Frank gave another of his light snorts and Disapparated.

"Dobby is setting the wards to not let him in anymore," Dobby announced darkly from behind him; Harry shook his head as Dobby materialised from out of the wall. "Frank Roberts is having a dark heart."

"Fine, Dobby," Harry said low and then reached for the urn of Floo-powder; he wouldn't even _try_ to Apparate.

***

The Grangers were actually howling with laughter at whatever lewd joke Fred and George were telling them, clutching at their sides underneath the white tent, while their other hands held a cake-plate. Harry had missed the grand cutting and he felt a touch of disappointment; he rarely attended the functions where his concoctions were served, so he never got to see _that_ moment. It was a little childish, he knew that, but...it would have been nice. He weaved through the crowd to Molly, kissing her soundly on the cheek and enduring a long lecture on the state of his frame.

"But how do you bake and eat all those sugary things, and don't put on any weight!" She exclaimed, pouting at him. "Women all over the world must hate you."

He gave her a small grin as he walked off, searching for a plate and something to eat from one of the long side-tables. He was just pondering some spicy chicken curry, when his knees buckled as a small body collided with him from behind and small sticky hands wrapped around his legs, wiping what seemed to be a pound of icing onto his robes. He set his plate down and turned around to pick up a giggling Fern, exclaiming over her hair.

"Where did it all go?" He asked the child, brushing his hand over the now-short copper-red curls. Fern simply laughed some more, holding onto Harry's fringe and tugging. He blocked her hands as she reached for his glasses, strongly reminded of the young Ricky Malfoy, how his hands were all over the place... and how his father gently stopped him from wreaking any more havoc.

"Hope was _experimenting_ ," Hermione said dryly, taking the baby and wiping the round face with a damp cloth. "Remind me never to give them magical chewing gum from the twins' shop. Ever." She tilted her head at his wan smile. "What? What's the matter?"

"Frank," Harry grunted and Hermione's face clouded over. "I know, I know. I'm not getting back together with him."

"That's good. You deserve better than that. Hope!" She screeched and Harry managed to refrain from jumping, laughing as Hope snuck guiltily from around the back of the cake. Hope Weasley, to the despair of her mother, apparently took more after her twin uncles than her father. She spotted Harry now and raced over, her legs flashing in the short summer robe.

"Uncle Harry! I had seven of the little tiny cakes and Fern only had four and why didn't you bring some roly-polies and did you know that I'm going to Io's birthday party? She invited me in school last week, with a shiny card and everything and she said that you were making her a cake! With butterflies!" All this was said as she was running and she literally scaled him like a tree, slinging a hand companionably around his neck. Harry was still processing the entire sentence.

"Wait, she goes to school with Iolanthe Malfoy?" He finally asked and Hermione nodded.

"Charms Primary," Hope said proudly.

"Malfoy sends his daughter to a primary school," Harry deadpanned. "Well. Wow."

"I _know_." Hermione switched Fern from one arm to the other, bouncing her a little. "It was a little strange to see him turn up on the first day of school with her. I nearly fell over when he told me good morning and introduced Io to Hope." Hermione gave a little laugh and looked around quickly, before leaning to whisper with the air of a conspirator. "I don't even know if Ron realises his daughter is best friends with Io. She talks about her all the time and all he does is nod and smile."

"A Malfoy and a Weasley are friends?" Harry pulled a wry face. "Lucius must be rolling in his grave."

"What does that _mean_?" Hope demanded. "And who is Loo-shus?"

"Somebody who belonged to a time before now, Hope. You like being friends with Io?" He grinned as she nodded fervently. "Then, that's all that matters, right?"

"Yeah. She said I could get all the butterflies I wanted." Hope wriggled out of his arms, looking thoughtful as he set her back on her feet. "She talks so fancy all the time. But she's nice. And Mummy says she has manners."

"Unlike _certain people_ ," Hermione added, grunting as Fern struggled to join her sister on the ground. "It would be good if you learnt all the manners we try to teach you."

"Yes, Mummy." Hope didn't even look chagrined. She simply grabbed Fern's hand and strolled off with her, Fern's chubby little legs pumping to keep up with her big sister. Harry watched them as they weaved past the legs of all the adults in search of their older cousins; they were his pride and joy. He found every way to spoil them as he had never been as a child.

"So you're catering for Io's party? Malfoy adores his children, you know." She picked up his plate and ladled a good amount of the curry in it. "And he's been out with them much more since he left his wife."

"He left her?" Harry asked, feeling bemused to hear himself sound so gossipy. "I thought it was the other way around... not so much of that, the pepper will give me heartburn."

"Sorry. And yes, he was the one who left her. He's no Lucius, I can tell you that. He's actually _trying_." She handed him his plate, looking at him with a concern that was tinged with admonition. Harry sighed. "Back to this Frank business."

"It's just as much my fault as it was his," Harry said automatically and then shook his head a little. He had been foolish; but Frank was magnetic and suave and Harry had allowed himself to get attached. "But I only make a mistake like that once, I suppose."

"You were in love with him, Harry," Hermione said shrewdly and Harry stuffed a mouthful of rice and chicken in his mouth to avoid a reply. "And for his part, he liked the idea of being involved with Harry Potter. How you kept it a secret from even me for so long, I'll never know."

"It took a lot of hard work," Harry responded dryly as he swallowed his mouthful. "Very hush-hush. Code-words and everything."

"Shut up and eat." Hermione rolled her eyes, realising that the matter was officially dropped. "You have a slice of cake calling your name."

"Oh, they _all_ call my name," he said smugly and choked as she elbowed him in the side.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry cursed with a surprising level of competence, stringing together words like drops of bitter rosewater. Dobby was frowning at the large silver cooker that was literally shaking in its place; no matter what level of elf-magic he threw at it, the appliance seemed to absorb it and get even crazier. Harry had told him to stop and he was currently tucked inside the tall broom-closet, eyeing the deviant machine.

Now, each of massive oven-sections was starting to belch flames. It was extremely unsettling, too much heat shimmering in the air of the bakery and Harry drew on his considerable reserve of magical energy to place a dampening field around it. He watched with his lips pulled tight as the flames licked against the transparent barrier; he made a sharp motion his wand, pulling all the oxygen out of the protective bubble and the flames died out.

Harry was royally pissed off, the reign on his temper crackling away like a thin wafer. Luckily, he had already finished the morning batches of pastries, thank Merlin. He had been pleased that his experiment with berries and shortbread biscuits1 had been well-received. His _Charlotte aux Poires_ 2 for a small bridal-shower had also been finished early. At least the blow-torch he used to brown the pear-slices had not caught whatever the cooker had developed, and tried to singe off his eyebrows or something; for that, Harry was thankful for small mercies.

Right now, though, he was going to fire-call Umwandeln and hopefully rip someone a new arsehole. He had Io Malfoy's pastries to begin and he very well couldn't do that with his industrial oven acting like it was possessed.

His concentration slipped a little and bright spires of fire erupted out of the burners; he sent out one more irritated push of magic and then squinted suspiciously as the cooker calmed down again, the stainless steel exterior shimmering a little as the different magical signatures battled with each other; Harry's was made of brute force and he could actually _see_ it, blue crackling lines whipping over the silvered surface, keeping the clever magic of his ex-lover's company at bay as it sought out ways to bypass the weighty press of Harry's. He made a low, purposeful growl and then strode over to the fireplace, wrenching open the small brass container of Floo-powder and flinging a handful of it into the fireplace. The flames there twisted into cool green and Harry knelt, snapping out the name of the company.

"Umwandeln Industries, how may I help you?" A perky witch demanded more than asked as soon as a connection had been made; her eyes widened as she recognised Harry. "Mr. Potter! Good morning! How can we assist you today?" Her voice was as sweet as confectioner's sugar. Harry narrowed his eyes at her and she flushed, twirling a lock of her purple-streaked hair around one forefinger.

"The charms on my cooker are malfunctioning," he said with a chill to rival his deep-freeze. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Dobby coming out of the broom-closet, armed with a dry mop. Harry's frown deepened, mainly because the secretary gained a confident glaze to her pixie-like face.

"The Boss will be coming right over, Mr. Potter," she smiled and Harry actually recoiled a little. "He said that whenever you called, we should tell him and he would deal with any and all problems himself."

"Send over anyone else," Harry spat. "I don't need Mr. Roberts to come over."

She gaped at him, confused. Harry took a few deep breaths and tried an apologetic, weary smile on her.

"Listen, I really just need some other mechanic or engineer or whatever you call them to come and fix these charms. I would try to myself, but they're very complicated and I might end up exploding something." His chuckle felt wilted, even to his own ears and the secretary smiled back, commiserating.

"I'll see what I can do, Mr. Potter. Mr. Roberts is in a meeting, anyway, so I'll look at the roster. Please wait five minutes."

He terminated the connection and rocked back on his heels, rubbing the heel of one hand against his brow. A fleeting wish for flying skipped across his mind; he really loved his little bakery, but he hardly had any time to simply take his broom and go rocketing in the air. He got up and perched on a stool, watching the misfit appliance as it shook within his protective bubble. Dobby poked at it and it rumbled defensively.

The Floo flashed into green again and Harry dropped the wards for it to let through the Umwandeln mechanic; he stiffened as Frank Robert's long frame tumbled with unfair grace onto the non-slip floor; Frank straightened up to his full height and smiled at Harry rakishly as he tugged on the collar of his dark-blue over-robes. Dobby opened his mouth to protest, but Harry shook his head in warning. The house-elf made a face and stomped off to the storage-room, locking the door.

"It's been a long time since I've worn these coveralls. Hello, Harry."

"I _told_ the secretary that you didn't need to come yourself," Harry replied stiffly. He refused to give ground as Frank advanced on him. "But since you're here, please fix the charms and send me your bill as soon as you return to your office."

"But this isn't the Harry I know," Frank mocked, taking out his wand and pointing it at the cooker. "So snippy. Oh, how did you manage to get the protective charms on this to wear out? You know how Muggle machinery malfunctions around strong magic." Frank continued to swish his wand indolently, using the elegant snaps of wrist that Harry had adored. Harry suddenly had a deep suspicion that Frank had set the charms to fail at a most opportune moment. He curled his top-lip as Frank turned to smile seductively at him.

"All fixed?" Harry said coolly. "Well done. Thanks so much for popping over, you've done quite a fantastic job--"

"How I love it when you're being bitchy," Frank murmured, stepping close to him. Harry glared up into the familiar face and pulled his head away as Frank tried to stroke his cheek. "Oh, come on."

"Remember when I found out you were _still_ married and we broke up? That whole process of ending the relationship, it actually still applies here." Harry tried not to breathe in the light scent of Frank's clothes, the memory of the times they spent together invading his mind. He was surprised to note that Frank was close enough for Harry to rest his palms on his chest; Harry was just gathering the strength to shove him away, when a curious, calm voice spoke up from the direction of the swinging doors.

"Am I interrupting something?"

 _Fantastic_ , Harry thought, pushing Frank away and turning to face Malfoy. He could see the two taller men sizing each other up and noted that Malfoy's lip curl was much more impressive than Harry's had felt. He studied the thin lips, (for research purposes of course) and blushed a little as Malfoy flicked his gaze to him.

"Lord Malfoy," Franks said with a thin veneer of respect, only barely covering a sneer. Harry didn't know how he managed to make Malfoy's name sound like it was a question directed at Harry himself. Harry tipped his chin and raised an eyebrow; Frank nodded knowingly. "Ah, yes. I'd forgotten that you were both in the same year at Hogwarts. But Harry has always told me about the infamous fights between the two of you."

"Has he?" Malfoy brushed at one finely embroidered sleeve idly, the movement bored. "We've grown past that, I hope, Mr. Roberts."

"You two know each other?" Harry blurted, taking the opportunity to edge away from Frank, who shot him a dark look and then nodded.

"Umwandeln Industries _used_ to be in charge of the protective charms on the machines at the Ministry labs," Malfoy informed him with a small surprising grin, which Harry returned without thinking.

"Until Lord Malfoy ended our contract," Frank finished, his own smile brittle. "He seems to have a penchant for... _taking over_."

"It's my one true gift," Malfoy said with icy modesty. "It helps when the parties being taken over are willing."

They both turned to give Harry nearly identical piercing gazes; Harry squared his shoulders and schooled his features into blankness. Frank frowned; one of Malfoy's pale eyebrows twitched up in what Harry remembered to be amusement. They returned to looking at each other appraisingly, until Frank tilted his head, his confident smile returning.

"Harry, your cooker is fine now. Consider this a courtesy call."

"I'd much rather you send me the bill," Harry gritted out; Frank simply waved his hand dismissively, sticking his other into the Floo-powder urn and stepping into the changed flames to return to his office. Harry closed his eyes and exhaled shortly as he re-instated the wards, before inhaling and opening his eyes to look at Malfoy.

"I was just... checking on Io's cake," Malfoy said first, a little uncomfortably and Harry nodded.

"Now that the cooker is repaired, I'm starting it now. It will be ready for tomorrow, don't worry." Harry headed for the storage area and rummaged around, dragging out the ingredients he needed with Dobby's help. He was surprised to see Malfoy still out in the main kitchen and he dutifully pinned back his hair and washed his hands, arranging the ingredients on the counter, and then beginning to measure them out. Dobby gave Malfoy a respectful bow and widened his already huge eyes at Harry’s questioning gaze.

"Good day, Master Malfoy," he muttered and Malfoy acknowledged him with slight nod.

"Amazing how you hated potions. Now look at you." Malfoy dragged up a stool and settled on it, flicking the edges of his robes out of the way. Harry cracked the eggs and separated the yolks and the whites before setting the shells aside.

"First off all, I don't have Professor Snape breathing down my neck. Secondly, the results are always delicious."

"Fair enough." Malfoy fixed his eyes on Harry's hands, seemingly incredulous that they were so quick and capable. "I must admit to you that I know. About you and Frank Roberts, that is."

Harry's hands stilled. He turned his head slowly, almost hearing the tendons in his neck creak like rusty hinges; Malfoy was steadfastly gazing everywhere else but at his face. Dobby's eyes were curious on them both as he set the temperature in the oven.

"What--"

"Not 'til recently, though," Malfoy added quickly. "I suppose it was after you broke up with him. I feared you were going to refuse to make Io's pastries, as you refused Antonia's. And Io would not hear of anyone else."

"Wait a minute." Harry stared at him. "You... you were going to _bribe_ me to cater for your daughter's party?" Harry couldn't help it; he suddenly burst out into laughter, the flour he had been scooping out dusting a fine white layer into the large glass bowl. Malfoy was scowling at him and this made Harry laugh even more; he had to set down the measuring cup and brace against the side of the counter, pressing his fingers against his temple. "You must love her _very_ much," he remarked lightly, quelling his chuckles. Malfoy blinked rapidly at him and then smiled, just a little.

"I do. And she deserves the very best." He reached out long fingers and brushed traces of flour from Harry's forehead and Harry wondered if Dobby had turned on the oven too high; it was getting sort of hot in here. Malfoy pulled back his hand, nodded as if he had arrived at a successful result to an Arithmantic calculation and sailed out, leaving Harry to try and ignore Dobby's pleased expression.

"When Master Malfoy was being a small wizard, Dobby would be helping make his hot chocolate," Dobby said gaily, peering into the left-side of the oven. "He was not being a nice boy when he was around his father, but he was a good little wizard by himself. And now he is being a good big wizard!"

"Nice to know I have your stamp of approval," Harry grumbled, mixing energetically as Dobby giggled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  1: Little shortbread tower with berries, found here (scroll down): [Nordljus: Goodbye Summer Fruit](http://www.nordljus.co.uk/en/goodbye-summer-fruit)  
> 2: _Charlotte aux Poires_ , from here: [: Nordljus: Charlotte aux Poires](http://www.nordljus.co.uk/en/charlotte-aux-poires)
> 
> Thanks to [](http://soojebi.livejournal.com/profile)[**soojebi**](http://soojebi.livejournal.com/) for these helpful links.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry found himself being shaken awake, in a rather violent manner; he snapped his head back, squeezing his wand-hand reflexively. A defensive spell popped up around him at the bidding of his magic; then he groaned to notice his tightly-clenched hand smeared with light pink icing, sugary strings of the stuff curling out of the icing tube he had been clutching as he dozed on a low work-table.

"Dobby," he sighed impatiently. "How many _times_ have I told you not to wake me like that?" He dispelled the personal ward and glared at the house-elf.

"Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter! But Harry Potter said _fifteen minutes to be resting_ and the fifteen minutes, they is finished."

"Well, bugger," Harry grumbled, ignoring Dobby's eyes widening in mock-surprise. Thanks to the whole fiasco yesterday, the timetable for Io Malfoy's cakes had been set back quite a lot. Harry was now fairly exhausted; he had spent nearly the entire night grimly smoothing the amaretto butter-cream on the cakes, piping in delicate lacy lines before setting the cakes in their tiers; he had also made sure that the butterflies that Dobby were enchanting weren't too extravagant (Dobby tended to be a little over-the-top at times).

He shook his icing-clad hand, murmuring an incantation to dispel the sticky mess and then giggled tiredly at the immature thought that flittered through his brain: _Sticky mess_... on his fingers; it really was a bit funny, because with his workload, he could barely manage a sticky mess by himself, much less with a willing participant. As he stood to inspect the cakes, making sure that they looked just as good in the daylight as they had in the harsh lighting of the bakery, he wondered how he had found the time for Frank. Granted, their 'relationship' had consisted of hurried meetings, clandestine charms to hide their identities until the doors had been shut behind them and they had fallen on each other hungrily. Harry stared unseeingly at the cake; why had he subjected himself to that? Even after he had realised that Frank had no intention of going through any divorce proceedings with his wife, Harry had allowed it all to stumble along, until he had gotten a little nauseated with himself.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the large clock above the door; its small hand was pointing to _Delivery Time!_ , the longer hand positioned twenty or so minutes to that. He strode over to the large cupboard in the corner and flung open the doors, groping along the second highest shelf for the transfer surface... then he remembered belatedly that Hope had torn it at her grandparent's party and he had not gotten it repaired since.

Hope had been almost inconsolable at Harry's dismayed expression when he had discovered the rip, the transfer spell almost completely leaked out of the fabric. She had burst into tears and Harry had had to pick her up and pat her back comfortingly as she had sobbed out her apologies. Because Hope had been crying, Fern had wrapped herself around Harry's legs and started to weep as well, not knowing what the situation was all about yet commiserating with her sister, until he had crouched down and wrapped a free arm around her tiny shoulders.

"Alright, alright," he had said gruffly. "It was an accident. Wasn't it?"

"Um," Hope had faltered through her tears and Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm really sorry, Uncle Harry! I'll pay you back! I have some Chocolate Frogs here... somewhere..." She patted at the pockets of her dress and scrubbed at her face; Fern reached out and tugged a lock of Harry's hair, making him turn to look down at her large brown eyes.

"Thorry?" She lisped and Harry had to heave a sigh. They would kill him with the absolute cute, they really would.

Now, he carefully shrunk the main cake with its small army of accompanying sweets and Levitated them into a box lined with translucent white paper. He tapped his chin thoughtfully with his wand and then cast a small cushioning charm about the whole thing. Satisfied, he went into his small back-office, leaving Dobby to enthusiastically scrub down the appliances to start the batch of regular pastries for the next day.

Harry frowned at the small amount of clothing he kept in the tiny closet, pushing them side to side with annoyance until he stopped to wonder why he was putting so much thought into it. He was delivering the cakes, that was _all_. He laughed to himself as he strode to the small bathroom to one corner of the office, unbuttoning the double-breasted jacket which had the protective and cooling-charms specially woven into the fabric. He would just take a quick shower, pull on a pair of trousers and a clean white jacket and deliver the cakes. Why he had been pondering putting on _something nice_ was beyond him, really.

***

"I'm ready to deliver the cakes," Harry informed Malfoy through the Floo, casting an eye around what was obviously Malfoy's home office. Stacks of crisp parchment were set neatly beside rows of tall glass bottles, filled with multi-coloured liquids. The table was large and well-polished, Malfoy seated almost primly behind it with a large fluffy quill in his hand; said quill was pink with the words _World's Best Daddy_ emblazoned on the wide shaft; Malfoy put it down carefully when Harry stared at it for a little too long.

"Very well," he replied, tugging at the lapels of his casual robes and waving his wand in a series of sharp, cutting motions, slicing through the air. "You may Floo into the kitchens now."

Harry pulled his head out of the green flames and took the small box from Dobby, whose expression was carefully blank.

"Malfoy Manor kitchen," he said clearly as he held the box out in front of himself, biting his lip as other grates rushed past his vision; he made a mighty effort to keep his elbows close to his sides and was very proud that he did not stumble as he emerged into the bright, high-ceilinged space.

The Manor kitchen was almost as big as the one in his bakery, surfaces gleaming as a few house-elves scampered out of his way; some of them cast baleful looks in his direction; he assumed they were miffed at him for making the cakes for this occasion. Most of them were busy with large pots, bubbling cheerfully with tantalizing smells.

One house-elf motioned to him and he was led to a long white table with casters on the legs. He set the box on the table and Banished it, leaving the miniature cakes for him to return to their normal sizes. As soon as he did that, he checked the cakes again, feeling uncharacteristically paranoid as he inspected the row of tiny sticky buns that Malfoy had claimed were Io's favourite.

He smiled as a high-pitched squeal echoed in the kitchen.

Io gave up all pretence of poised young lady as she barrelled into the kitchen. She leaped around him as he smoothed down the tablecloth, clapping her hands and laughing, her long skirts flying around in a blur of dark-green and white trim. Ricky toddled in after her, dragging a battered stuffed dragon on the floor, tugging at his ridiculously large collar as he issued a yell. Harry laughed out loud as Io grasped onto little Ricky's pale pudgy arms and the both of them danced around together in a wild circle.

"It's here, it's here!" Io cried, beaming as she scampered over to the table, _Happy Fifth Birthday, Iolanthe_ inscribed with large curling letters on the lowest cake-tier. Dobby had charmed the butterflies to hover just over the surface of the cake and now Harry nudged one right onto his wand, turning and bending so that Io could take it carefully. She looked at it with wide grey eyes, one finger barely tracing the glittering stripes of colour in the wings; the sugar-butterflies lost the charm that caused their wings to flutter slowly as soon as they were touched; Io broke off one of the almost transparent wings, giving it to her brother. The baby crammed it into his mouth and his eyes opened wide, blinking comically.

"You like it?" Harry laughed, watching Io nod in delight. He hesitated and then gave them another, watching with a sense of growing fondness as Ricky waited for his wing and took it with surprising dexterity out of Io's palm. A low laugh from the door alerted Harry to Malfoy's presence, just as Ricky nibbled on an edge of a wing and then gobbled it down with great impatience.

"There you are. You're both to be in the garden." Malfoy strode in, hoisting up his son. Ricky giggled and pulled at Malfoy's hair, streaking the light strands with icing. Malfoy seemed totally unperturbed, tickling the little boy under his chin and bouncing him as the child shrieked with laughter; he hunkered down as Io tugged on his robes, showing him what remained of her wing, nodding solemnly as she chattered. As Harry tried to back away in the direction of the fireplace, Malfoy's eyes slid to him and pinned him to the spot.

"Where are you going, Mr. Uncle Harry?" Io demanded as she followed her father's gaze. "Aren't you going to stay at my party? We haven't eaten yet and I haven't opened the presents... and Hope brought me a big _big_ box."

"Io gibble pressie fly," Ricky chided, opening and closing his fist at Harry, beckoning him closer. "More pressie."

"You can call me Uncle Harry, I told you that," Harry said, watching a little desperately as Malfoy released his son and the boy tottered with determination in his direction. "But I really...I have work..." Ricky finally drew close and fell against Harry, tilting his head back and laughing as he pressed his little chin into Harry's leg. Harry, who was used to children using his legs as support systems, smiled automatically in response. He really adored children; he had long convinced himself that it would be a long time before he could think of having his own.

"It seems you've been placed on the VIP list for this birthday party, Potter," Malfoy said in an almost uninterested tone of voice, but he winked at Io as she beamed at him. "You're quite welcome to stay."

"I've left Dobby," Harry explained, wincing as Ricky gave him an experimental bite. "I don’t usually stay and I should really get back. Besides, I'm not really dressed... ow, Ricky, no."

"Aelric," Malfoy said in warning, although Harry could have sworn he was in the middle of stifling laughter. "Don't bite Potter's knee. No. _No_."

Harry glared at Malfoy, who was looking at him now with a suspiciously straight face, and then he pried Ricky off his leg. The child giggled up at him and then staggered back over to his father, who sent out a long arm and reeled him in like a stray Quaffle. Malfoy's eyes wandered coolly up and down Harry's body; Harry flushed and tilted his chin back, blaming his burning cheeks on the warm kitchen.

"You look presentable enough," Malfoy finally determined, his voice gaining its bored tone again. "Stay."

Harry bristled a little; this was more an _order_ than a request, so typically Malfoy; he was in the middle of mentally composing a sentence to firmly take his leave when Io turned shining, happy eyes to him, clasping her hands tightly in expectant hope. Harry furrowed his brow, thinking; he could certainly have a little sleep when he left.

"An hour or so, then," he relented and Io cheered, prompting Ricky to screech with her.

"Or more?" Malfoy wondered and gave Harry a smile that had sharp edges; Harry made a valiant effort not to shiver at that smile and, on a strange impulse, returned his most dazzling grin, brightening it even more as Malfoy stared at him.

"Shall we?" Harry said, bowing gravely to the birthday girl, surprised to see her drop a perfect curtsy in response. He turned to grab the table, casting a slight Levitation spell so it could be wheeled easier out of the kitchen and down the wide passage, presumably to the gardens. "We have a cake to cut. Presents to open."

Malfoy didn't reply; he simply rose with the wriggling Ricky and with a long look at Harry, swept out before him. Harry nodded at Io and followed, smiling to himself as the house-elves swarmed back to their pots.


	5. Chapter 5

When Harry pushed the table with its lovely load of cakes past the massive glass doors out into the bright garden, the shrieks of the children were almost deafening. He grinned at them as he manoeuvred it on the paved walkway, pushing it carefully under an area covered with a small, brightly coloured tent; another table was already there, piled high with presents and the children were milling close, peering at the cake as Io proudly pointed out her favourite butterflies. Harry stepped back and then laughed as Hope, dressed in a lovely blue frock, forced her way through the crowd of small bodies and grabbed onto his hand almost possessively.

"Hi!" she chirped, grinning up at him and he gently squeezed her little hand in greeting. She took a deep breath and Harry braced himself. "Uncle Harry, you made that? Wow, it's nice. Io promised me some butterflies, you know and Mummy is here and so is Daddy! But Daddy looks a bit ill, don't you think? I don't know why. This house is so big! I've never seen a house so big, it looks like a castle and I didn't know Io lived in a castle. They have snapdragons here and I love snapdragons and when are we going to cut the cake?"

"Soon," Harry told her, quite used to Hope's rambling mode of speech. "We'll cut it soon. Have something else in the meantime."

She hugged him impulsively and then plunged back into the crowd of children, fighting her way to Io, until she was standing right beside her. Hope whispered in the little blonde girl's ear; Io smiled serenely, nodded and they giggled together. Hope turned and took up one of the tiny sticky-buns Harry had made, perfect for small hands, and presented it with a flourish to Io, who giggled even more and took it. When the other children clamoured for some, Hope took over with all the authority of a mini-Hermione, proceeding to dole out the sweets.

Harry watched them indulgently. Hope had been born a small, sickly baby; her skin had been an alarming pale shade, tinged with blue. The mediwizards and Healers worked hard, removing traces of the curses Hermione had endured during the War, the ones they could not have touched while she had been carrying Hope. Even after all of that, they had not been quite sure she would have lived to see her first birthday. He remembered Ron and Hermione's worried faces as they cared for their firstborn, the rest of the Weasley family supporting them when they took much-needed rest. Now, she was taller than most children her age, her wild red hair trying to escape from the two long plaits Ron had wrestled the thick curls into. Because she was standing so close to Io, the red contrasted with Io's smooth blonde wispy hair.

A strange silence suddenly fell over the chattering children and Harry dragged his eyes away from his god-daughter and her unlikely friend, to where Narcissa Malfoy stood at the end of the garden path from where it emerged from the house, a shimmery blue shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders. Her eyes were shuttered and hooded, fixed on the children in a mixture of interest and hesitation. One wrinkled hand fluttered to her neck, where a small diamond pendant glittered on a fine golden chain.

Harry stepped forward, but Malfoy was already walking swiftly towards her, from where he had been supervising the house-elves set up the table for the buffet. Before either of them got even close, though, Io slipped away from Hope's grasp and up to her grandmother, taking hold of one edge of the shawl. For a long moment, they stared at each other, Narcissa's hand moving slowly from her pendant to hover in uncertainty around the child's head. Harry watched Malfoy stand still, taking in the scene just as everyone else was. He could only see the side of Malfoy's face, his jaw working in what seemed to be agitation.

"How are you, _ma petite_?" Narcissa asked gently, a smile flickering over her faded features, the delicate beauty still apparent. "Are you having a good birthday?" Her hand finally descended on Io's small head, stroking blonde strands behind her ears.

"It's really lovely," Io beamed, sharing it with Hope, who had now come up to stand beside them, casting unsure looks at Narcissa. "This is my friend, Hope!"

"Hmmm," Narcissa said, arching one thin eyebrow at Hope's vibrant hair. "Your _friend_?"

Harry flicked his gaze to Malfoy and was surprised to see Malfoy's head turned a little in _his_ direction, a sliver of grey glittering at him as Malfoy regarded him out of the corner of his eye. Harry turned his own head away, just noticing Hermione and Ron standing in the garden proper; he could still feel Malfoy looking at him, the gaze burning into the side of his face.

Narcissa was bending to shake Hope's hand with all the grace of a true lady and for once, Hope was apparently doing her mother's desperate lectures some credit, smiling politely and responding to the low questions with all the charm she could muster.

"Oh good Merlin, she's remembered her manners," Hermione said right in his ear, her voice sounding shocked. He turned fully to grin at them, Fern perched comfortably in her father's arms; she was sucking her thumb and simply grinned at him around it; Harry winked back and the grin grew wider, showing small teeth.

Harry then looked at Ron, whose gaze was steady on his eldest daughter's interactions with Malfoy's mother. He didn't look particularly upset; just watchful and wary. He looked as if he was ready to plot a tactical move.

"Hey," Harry said softly and Ron finally looked at him, smiling a little and briefly closing his eyes. He set Fern on the ground and kept his eye on her as she toddled back to the spot in the garden where they had been standing previously.

"It's just that... seeing her? Reminded me of the war." Ron's voice was distant as he watched Fern touch the lowest flowers with a gentle hand; she was much shyer than her sister at that age; she barely spoke to people she did not know and had a sweet and calm disposition.

Harry nodded; even though Ron's eyes were fixed on his daughter, he knew he was referring to Narcissa.

"Same here. Feels a bit surreal standing in Malfoy's garden and having cool drinks," Hermione put in, accepting one such glass from a house-elf. "Who would have thought?"

"He _did_ help us in the war," Harry pointed out and then looked up at the large Malfoy Manor, the walls of it dark against the stark blue of the sky. "But I understand what you mean." They had all been to the Manor before, on a Horcrux hunt; the Manor had been abandoned and locked-up, its wards strong and threatening; Malfoy had been the one to let them in, looking scared and yet very determined. How young they had all been. It seemed so very long ago and far away, especially now under the bright cheerful sunlight, the laughter of children and their parents filtering happily through the garden.

"I guess what we're still wondering," Harry thought aloud, "Is if it was all worth it."

"Oh yes," Ron said without hesitation, his eyes soft on his littlest one. Aelric Malfoy had discovered Fern and they were both staring at each other with the frank inquisitiveness of the very young. Ricky stepped forward and babbled at her, offering his cuddly dragon with both hands; Fern hung back, nearly sidling all the way around the short thick bush she had been inspecting earlier, before reaching out short fingers to gently pull on the round nose of the stuffed toy. Ron nodded as if in satisfaction. "It was all worth it."

"Good," Harry said, feeling a content smile float across his face. "That's good."

***

"One would think you were born in that chef's jacket," Malfoy said to him as Harry deftly handled a plateful of food that had been brought over to him by an elf called Neeky. "Are you wearing anything underneath?"

Harry, a forkful of salad halfway to his mouth, blinked up at his host. Most of the adults were all in comfortable chairs in the garden, eating as the children raced around the small mazes. Narcissa had been seated underneath a sizeable yew tree, holding court over a small crowd of the older girls. Surprisingly, Fern was sitting happily at her feet, pushing around large brightly-coloured bricks with Ricky; at one point, Fern had become excitable, causing the bricks to levitate and bump into each other in mid-air. She had apparently become upset at Ricky.

The commotion had been cleared before any of their parents made it towards them, however, the blocks lowering to the ground as Ricky flung his arms around Fern, babbling earnestly. Crisis averted, Fern had gone back to her play, offering some of the toys to Narcissa. Ron had still looked doubtful, keeping his eyes on them as Narcissa accepted the small bricks, returning them when Fern motioned with her chubby hands.

"Pardon?" Harry said now, taken aback; Malfoy was not smiling at him, but his general demeanour seemed to be as one highly amused. Harry sighed internally and then set the fork down on the plate; Malfoy always seemed to be laughing at him in one way or the other. "I do have something on underneath, not that it's any of your business."

"I hope it's not something old and raggedy, as you used to parade in when we were younger."

"I didn't know you were looking," Harry shot back dryly. For some reason, he found himself continuing, even though he disliked talking about that phase of his life. "That was... not quite by choice. At least I've grown out that phase, wouldn't you say?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry's flippant tone, but said nothing. Harry set his mouth and then endeavoured to change the subject.

"Your mother," he started, looking down and picking up his fork to jab at his food. "She seems--"

"She is... not well," Malfoy responded tightly; Harry looked up to see him staring fixedly at his mother. Malfoy had his hands buried in the pockets of his robes, in a casual stance that radiated confidence and Harry took the opportunity to quickly take in the line of his jaw, the way the wind whipped blond strands of hair against it. He looked away as Malfoy's mercurial gaze returned to him. "She hasn't much time, they say."

"I'm sorry about that," Harry said in earnest, meeting his gaze quickly. Malfoy's expression was unreadable and Harry only just managed to prevent himself from blushing. "I really am."

"Noted," Malfoy murmured and then gave a tight smile. "Potter--"

"Excuse me, Daddy?" Io was standing by his side, leaning into his dark robes. Malfoy's face changed completely; it went soft and open, taking on a gentleness that was almost overpowering. Malfoy looked so much like his father, Harry mused, but no-one would have ever caught Lucius looking like that. The trademark twisting sneer was erased by a smile that could only be described as sweet. "Daddy. I'm sorry for interrupting."

"That is alright. What is it?"

"Mr. Uncle Harry, the cake is really brilliant," Io said directly to Harry, who spotted the small plate in her hands, loaded with a generous wedge of cake. He peered a little around her, catching sight of an elf at the cake-table quickly slicing and levitating portions, and he felt a sliver of pride; he rarely saw one of his cake creations being cut. "I really like the taste. What is it?"

"That bit you have there is almond torte," Harry explained. "One of the other cakes is Orange Almond with vanilla butter-cream icing...and there's a chocolate cake." He did not dare look at Malfoy.

"Daddy loves chocolate!" Io declared, looking up at her father. "He says its de--de--"

"Decadent," Malfoy supplied smoothly. "Get me a slice, please?"

Io scampered off, her portion of cake slipping precariously on her plate. Harry concentrated on his food, studiously ignoring Malfoy and regarding his surroundings with great interest. Fern and Ricky were having a serious baby conversation over a patch of grass where a grasshopper had taken residence. Hermione was smiling with some of the other parents while Ron was talking animatedly with a small group of children, making faces and wide hand motions, obviously narrating dragon-tales.

"Potter, I will need your services for an upcoming party. It's actually a surprise birthday for Zabini. His twenty-fourth."

"But...isn't he a little older than we are? He should be thirty-two," Harry said, brow wrinkling as Malfoy gave him a very small, knowing smile. "Oh. He's lying about his age. I thought that was a witch thing."

Malfoy sighed.

"He's been counting _backwards_ for a while now."

"Ah," Harry said.

"So. You're to bring your little fancy portfolio and we'll discuss the pastries and cakes. When are you free for dinner here?"

Harry felt his eyelashes flutter, he was blinking so fast. Malfoy was staring at him.

"Um." He frowned a little, flicking through his mental diary. "Wednesday. Wednesday is fine."

"I have a staff-meeting that will definitely run late that night. Unless you don't mind coming here at eight?"

"No." Harry felt off-kilter and was a little grateful that at least his voice sounded level; Malfoy's regard was getting too heavy. "It doesn't matter. Business is business."

Malfoy's lips curled into a predatory expression, smoothing out when Io came back with his huge serving of chocolate cake. He took it from her, pressing the edge of a small fork into the dark cake, took a healthy bite and made a low rumbling groan of appreciation. Io laughed out loud, obviously used to whatever Malfoy was pulling, but Harry took a deep breath and made a long, silent exhale.

"This is some delicious business," Malfoy remarked as Harry got up, Neeky popping beside him immediately to take his plate. "Wednesday, Potter?"

"Yes." Harry cut his eyes away and smiled down at Io. "Thanks for the invitation, Io."

"Thank you for coming to my party," Io recited dutifully. Malfoy was nodding in time to her words. "I hope you had a lovely time. It would be wonderful to see you again."

Harry's smile bloomed into a grin and Malfoy matched his, a proud father. For a moment, they were all standing there grinning foolishly at each other until Harry tore his gaze away to see Ron and Hermione looking at him oddly. Ron had his eyebrows raised, even as he bundled up a sleepy Fern from the short grass and lifted her in his arms. Hermione looked even more speculative and Harry groaned internally, fully expecting a barrage of questions from them both at the next opportune moment. He smiled weakly at their calculating stares, choosing to simply to wave his goodbyes and escape down the garden pathway to the hall leading to the kitchen, Flooing back to his bakery.

"Harry Potter was leaving Dobby for a long time," Dobby chided as soon as he landed back in his own kitchen, brandishing a rolling-pin. "But Dobby was _very busy_ making the crusts for the tarts. Harry Potter should be going home to rest."

"You're _very bossy_ for a house-elf," Harry mused. "I should really get rid of you. But young Miss Malfoy loved her butterflies. You did a fine job, Dobby."

The house-elf preened, his large round eyes almost squinted shut in pride. Harry went to take up an extra rolling-pin, but was chased out of his own kitchen by a righteous house-elf demanding that _Harry Potter must go and rest!_


	6. Chapter 6

Wednesday evening found Harry Apparating directly to his house as soon as he closed the bakery. Usually, he would amble over to Ron and Hermione's, idling happily with them and their daughters until it was far past the girls' bedtime. Then he would Floo home and stumble into bed, feeling a mixture of delight at being with his friends and a little loss that he didn't have a family of his own.

Now he was peering into his messy wardrobe, towel cinched tightly around his narrow waist as he pulled out articles of clothing and frowned at them. _It's not a date_ , he reminded himself firmly, discarding a green shirt quickly; just as fast, he tossed out a red one; _it's really just business_.

Finally, he pulled out a shirt that passed whatever mental test he had set for himself. It was one that he had bought recently, not having worn it as yet: a dark charcoal jumper, with a lighter grey mock layer at the cuffs, hem and neck. He liked the effect, as if he had a shirt underneath, without the extra bulk. Satisfied at his reflection, he hauled on a favourite pair of khaki trousers; _cargo-pants_ were what Ginny had called them, laughing a little as she had flung them over the door of the changing room. He was glad they still had a close relationship... who else would help him pick out fashionable clothes?

He was sticking his wand in one long pocket and shrinking his portfolio to place in another, when the wards shimmered lightly around him. He grabbed onto his hair-brush and went through his bedroom door, looking over the banister into the small open entry. Hermione and Ron were looking expectantly up at him, dressed warmly for the cool night air.

"Hi!" Hermione greeted him brightly. "Oh, you have a date?"

"No, no, just dinner with Malfoy. To discuss a _job_ ," he clarified at Ron's arching eyebrows.

"Oh, sure, yeah," Ron said airily. "Because _everyone_ discusses business over dinner at seven in the evening."

"It's at _eight_." Harry yanked the brush through his hair with a show of great grumpiness. Hermione _tsked_ and ascended the steps, grabbing onto the brush and doing a gentler job. "Seriously. He's throwing a surprise birthday party for Zabini. Where're Fern and Hope?"

"At my parents." Hermione tilted his head with one hand and used the fingers of the other to settle most of his fringe to one side. "We're on a little date ourselves....ah, your hair looks better this way. And don't change the subject."

"What subject?" Harry blinked at her innocently as he retrieved his brush and cast a Reflective charm in the air, right in front of his face. He wrinkled his nose and brushed down his dark hair back over his scar, scowling at Hermione.

"The subject of Malfoy," Ron stated, having coming up the staircase himself and leaning against it near them, watching as Hermione struggled to give Harry a different appearance. "The subject of why he's so interested. The subject of why you're not exactly running for the hills."

"He's not particularly hard on the eyes," Harry sighed, relinquishing his hair to Hermione. "And he's not interested. He was married, remember?"

"Worse than that has never stopped you before," Ron said unthinkingly and then skewed his mouth to one side. "Sorry. That was a low blow."

"Oh, you think?" Harry pressed his fingers against one eyebrow and then returned Ron's apologetic expression with a faintly reassuring grin. Ron had been strangely upset at Harry when they had finally found out about Harry's affair. After a week of chilly silence and one Saturday of yelling in Harry's house (while Harry had been whipping up a quick raspberry cheesecake), it had boiled down to Ron being disappointed; to him, Harry was _not supposed_ to do such illicit activities as have affairs with married men.

"I made a _mistake_ ," Harry had fumed at the time, feeling close to jabbing Ron in the eye with his spatula. "I'm only human, that might come as shock to you? But I'm bound to slip up sometimes. Cut me a fucking break."

"No need to curse," Ron had spat, "And get your bloody spatula out of my face."

They had glowered at each other and then burst into weary laughter as Hermione had sneaked a taste of the cream-cheese, rolling her eyes.

"The thing is, Harry," Ron continued now, following Harry and Hermione into Harry's bedroom, "People like Malfoy, they don't need emotions to form relationships, you know? I mean, everyone knows he only married that duchess to get his heirs. So, just... be careful."

"I'll try to keep my virtue intact," Harry said dryly as he sat on the bed to put on his shoes; Ron cuffed him in the back of the head. "Hey! Watch the hair."

"Ponce," Ron muttered fondly, perching on the bed beside his friend. "Oh. Hope sent this."

He took out a small object out of his pocket and placed it in Harry's open palm. Harry looked at it curiously; it seemed to be a rough bracelet, braided into a circle with short pieces of cord, a few beads attached to the thick strings. Smiling, he put it on his left wrist and pressed the fingers of his right hand against it, detecting Hope's immature magic; her mind had been bent on him when she had been making this, he realised, taking out his wand and casting a preserving spell so that the knots wouldn't unravel too easily. "Tell her thanks for me."

"She did a whole bunch of them after she learned in class, you should have seen me hunting around for the right cord and beads," Hermione said, pulling back the sleeve of her light cloak to display her own bracelet. "She said she was making them for all her family."

Harry felt a warm weight in his chest at that; he spent a lot of time thinking about why he hadn't his own family yet. Being included in one so easily made him feel better about the whole thing.

"Mine is itchy," Ron complained, scratching at his wrist. "Ready to go, 'Mione? Harry, have fun on your date."

"It's not a date!"

***

Harry sat impatiently in the small cosy room. After Flooing to the Manor on-time, he had been met by a beaming Neeky and asked to wait for Master Draco in the Red Room. That had been more than half-hour ago; Harry tried to relax in the deep winged chair by the crackling fire. He took out his book and enlarged it, going over the pictures and picking any mistakes he could see.

"Potter, my apologies for the wait," Malfoy said abruptly from the door and Harry looked up, taking in the high colour in his cheeks. Malfoy looked flustered and distracted, even as he led Harry into a massive dining room. A small meal was set up at one end of the polished table. Malfoy dragged his seat out for him and then sat close; they picked at the warm food in an uncomfortable silence. Malfoy kept staring at the door, as if expecting someone else.

"Would you like to take a look through the portfolio now?" Harry asked politely as soon as their food had been cleared away. He had barely tasted it and he suspected that it had been the same for Malfoy, judging from the pensive look on his face. Harry longed to ask him what the matter was but kept himself in check. It really was none of his concern.

"Hmm? Oh. Yes." Malfoy held out his hand, taking the book and making a great effort of flicking through the pages. It occured to Harry that he wasn't even _looking_ , and on impulse he reached out and tugged the portfolio out of his hands. Malfoy stared at him. "Potter--"

"What is it?" Harry asked, a little more gently than he thought he was capable of, especially with Malfoy. "Is there a problem?"

"Aelric," Malfoy breathed, looking as if he was relieved to finally say this to someone. "He's been having a fever." Without another word, he rose and hurried out of the room and Harry followed, not sure if he had been asked or not. They went through darkened corridors, the ceilings of which were shadowed and high. They emerged into a small wing that had lovely tall windows, and an unusually wide corridor with soft blue carpeting; there were friendly dragons and bright flowers painted on the pale cream walls. Harry noticed that the flowers were blooming slowly, the dragons cavorting among the thick leaves.

Malfoy reached a dark-blue door and opened it; the room was low-lit and with a wave of Malfoy's wand, the lights brightened just a little more. Harry stepped in cautiously, picking his way over toys strewn over the carpeting. Malfoy was standing beside a large ornate cot, reaching in to brush Ricky's dark hair out of his face. The little boy was awake, lying on his side and regarding them with dull eyes.

"Po'ly," Ricky said suddenly in a low voice, hanging on listlessly to his cuddly dragon. "Daddy. Ricky feeling po'ly." His grey eyes slid from his father's face to Harry's; his little mouth was turned down and he kicked irritably at the light covers, pushing them off to stand up. Malfoy picked him up out of the cot and held him close, murmuring in a low worried voice.

"Io never had fevers like this, I don't think," Malfoy said, patting his pyjama-clad son on the back. "She'd be up and running, even when she had a temperature. I'm just about ready to take him into St. Mungo’s." Malfoy's mouth was twisted in much the same way as his son's.

"May I?" Harry opened his arms and Malfoy gave him a suspicious look, before handing over the little boy. Harry held him with confidence as Ricky fussed; he cast a spell to read his temperature and then another to magnify the sound of the baby's breathing, noting that his fever was high, but not worrisome, and his chest sounded fairly clear.

"Is he normally fussy at night?" Harry asked, looking around for a place to sit. He located a sturdy rocking chair and went over to sink into the plush cushioned seat, settling Ricky in his lap and tucking the little limbs into a more comfortable position. Malfoy hovered over him, nodding in response to Harry's question. "Has he been coughing?"

"A little. He has a runny nose, too."

As if on cue, Ricky sniffed piteously. Harry looked down at him and then pulled his hand down into the sleeve of his jumper, grabbing the cuff of it with his fingers and using the material to wipe Ricky's nose. He started to rock in the chair and Ricky snuggled a little more into Harry's lap, sticking his thumb into his mouth.

"Diarrhoea?"

"No."

"Sore throat?"

"No. I didn't know you were a baker _and_ a Healer, Potter," Malfoy said with a faint trace of humour. Harry shrugged slightly.

"Hope had a hard first year as a baby. And I baby-sit them sometimes, so you pick up a little, you know?"

"To my discredit, I trusted their upbringing to my wife," Malfoy admitted and then his eyes hardened. "My _ex-wife_. I had not realised that she in turn had left them almost totally in the care of the house-elves." His eyes were slit down to dangerous lines and Harry could feel the muted fury of his magic brushing against his skin. Ricky made a small sound and shifted in Harry's arms, almost fully asleep. Malfoy gave his child a quick glance and then visibly calmed himself. "Now, it is important that I am more involved." He stared down at his son. "Nothing else takes precedence."

Harry watched his hand reach down and brush through Ricky's dark mop of hair. Ricky gave a long sigh; Harry concentrated on sending tendrils of his own magic to calm Ricky's, which had the same tinge of fever as his body.

"He just has a slight cold. Can Dobby come in here?" Harry asked. "I have something at home, for the fever. And can you get a spoon?"

"I'll let down the wards," Malfoy said immediately, reaching for his wand and twitching it quickly in the air. Harry closed his eyes, fixing his mind on Dobby.

"Dobby. Come here, please. I need your help."

There was an pause and Dobby popped into existence right at Harry's knee, looking around himself warily. He was dressed in his 'at-home' gear: a beloved _Gryffindor Quidditch_ jumper that was a little too large for him and a long multi-coloured scarf, with two mismatched socks on each foot. He spotted Ricky in Harry's lap and leaned forward in concern.

"Dobby, go look in the medicine cabinet in my bathroom, on the top shelf. You'll see an orange box marked _Nurofen_ ; fetch it for me." Harry nodded and Dobby left immediately; he was back just as a Malfoy house-elf appeared with a small spoon in one hand and Harry's portfolio clutched in the other. Dobby took the spoon from the other elf and handed it to Harry as Malfoy gave the medicine a sidelong look.

"It's Muggle," Harry said, opening the box to get at the half-full bottle. "It's... it's like a potion for children, to help his fever. Do you mind? My girls take it when they're like this."

"Does it work?" Malfoy's voice was flat.

"It works fine."

Malfoy handed him the spoon without another word. Harry set to waking up the baby gently and Ricky was not pleased. He glared at both Harry and his father and tried to cuddle his way back to sleep.

"Here, have some of this," Harry cajoled, levitating the bottle to pour out some liquid in the spoon. Ricky turned his face away into Harry's chest as the spoon hovered close. "Oh, it tastes really great. Like cake."

"Cake?" Ricky's voice was doubtful. "Where cake?"

"In the spoon!" Harry lied cheerfully. Ricky twisted to look up at him, as if trying to read any untruth in his face and then opened his mouth. The spoon popped in under Harry's command, then tipped up, taking care to catch any dribble. "See, didn't that taste good?"

"Not cake," Ricky griped and then stuck his thumb back in his mouth. He seemed less irritable already, content to tuck himself into Harry and fall right asleep, one hand clutching at the neckline of Harry's jumper. Harry rocked the chair as gently as he could, smelling the sweet baby-scent of Ricky's hair. Malfoy, Dobby and the other house-elf were standing around and regarding him, until Harry turned and gave them a small questioning smile.

"Is Harry Potter needing any other thing?" Dobby whispered and Harry shook his head. "Dobby is going home, then."

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry whispered back. Malfoy nodded gravely and Dobby seemed delighted with this, his ears quivering right before he snapped out of view. The other house-elf gave a quick bow and departed as well, leaving Malfoy to conjure up a matching chair and sink into it across from Harry, right after he re-set the wards.

"Don't worry. He'll be fine in the morning," Harry reassured him, squelching the surreal feeling; he was sitting in Malfoy's _home_ , a warm sleepy child in his lap as Malfoy Accio'ed his portfolio and began to turn its pages slowly. It was almost... cosy. Harry, who was a very big fan of _cosy_ , had to stop himself from toeing off his shoes and drifting away in a light doze.

"Ah," Malfoy said in satisfaction. "This one."

The book floated out of his hands and Harry peered at the page, using a free hand to push his glasses up his nose. It was the one with a tower of square cakes, boxes piled up and set cater-corner to each other. There was a thick band of icing on the side of each cake, so that they cleverly resembled neatly-wrapped gifts; to complete the effect, a large bow graced the topmost layer.

"Not as much cakes, though," Malfoy said. "Only three tiers. I'll leave you to choose the flavours. But you do know I love chocolate."

"Of course," Harry murmured, putting all his attention in brushing Ricky's fringe out of the round little face. "Anything else?" The portfolio returned to Malfoy, who tapped his chin as he looked through the book.

"Thirty each of the mini fruit tarts, the pecan tarts... and these tiny servings of flan." He closed the portfolio and regarded Harry for a long time. Harry returned his gaze with equanimity, then with a little dismay as he felt something twist in his stomach and chest: a dark curl of attraction.

 _Oh, hell_ , Harry thought and got up as quickly as he could, without jostling Ricky. The baby's hand slipped from where it had been gripping his shirt as Harry placed him in the cot; he thought a minute and then retrieved his wand out of his long pocket.

"I'm going to cast a monitoring charm and bind it to you," he told Malfoy. "Just in case of anything."

"Go right ahead," Malfoy said easily, tilting his head to one side. Harry pointed his wand to Ricky, intoning _Vigilo_ ; without ending the spell, he transcribed his wand in the air, establishing a Sentinel charm as soon as his wand was directed at Malfoy; what seemed to be parental intuition was now strengthened to the point where Malfoy would be forcibly alerted if Ricky worsened in the night. Harry seriously doubted that this would happen, but from his experience, it was excellent for a caregiver's peace of mind.

"To think that one day you would point your wand at me and I would feel completely safe," Malfoy observed and Harry gave him a quick, wry smile. "Thank you for your help, you're quite good with children. Io will be disappointed to know that she had slept through your visit."

"Tell her hello for me," Harry said, feeling a strange attack of shyness. "I'll...I'll just be going. No, I'll show myself out, you don't have to--"

"Nonsense," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes a little. He followed Harry out to the wide corridor, taking a long time to gaze at his son before closing the door completely. "One minute," he said quietly as he crossed the corridor, opening a dark-green door. Harry tip-toed close, realising that this was Io's room; she was sleeping underneath a thick pile of covers in the large, low bed, just a wispy shock of blond hair in sight. Harry waited as Malfoy crept in, peering down at her for a moment before returning.

They returned to the Floo in a more comfortable silence than what had been at dinner; Malfoy took a handful of Floo-powder and surprised Harry by placing it in his palm instead of throwing it into the fire himself. Malfoy's fingers were long and thin, stroking gently against Harry's hand as he opened his fingers to release the powder.

"Nice shirt. Have a good night," he said with a cryptic smile and that smile was the thing Harry carried with him, stuck to the front of his brain as if Spellotaped, as he staggered out of his own fire-place.

"Good," he said aloud to the empty living area. "Great. Wanking, then bedtime... not necessarily in that order. And _not_ while thinking about Malfoy."

 _Yeah, right_ , he thought as he ascended the stairs to his bedroom, making a sharp snort of exasperated laughter at himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry paused in his working of the small mountain of dough, feeling the air around him cool considerably. He was alone in his kitchen, having sent out Dobby on a delivery errand. Quite a few of his clients were fairly elderly, like Mrs. Widdershins; on a rainy day like this one, they could not come out as much. So he would send Dobby on a few rounds, saving Hedwig the soggy journey; she was far too old to be gallivanting in the rain anyway.

He turned his head slowly, gaze touching on each one of his large appliances. To the back of the room, the deep-freeze stood open, wisps of cold air escaping from inside it.

"What in the _world_ \--" Harry began and then gave a surprised cry as the temperature plummeted terribly. His flour-dusted hands reached into his front pocket, but his fingers had cramped from the sudden cold. His wand clattered to the floor and Harry blinked, teeth chattering in his head.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake." He closed his eyes and gathered as much energy as he could, expelling it out in the form of a desperate warming charm. The wandless action was draining, but at least he wasn't cold. "I'm going to _kill_ Frank."

In response, his whole kitchen went out of control.

The spiral mixer (the one he should have been using to handle the dough, but sometimes he really liked the hands-on treatment), began to spin wildly, accompanied by the vertical mixer, jittering to the edge of the counter; in a moment, they'd both be shattered on the floor. The oven had began its hellish expelling of flames again; the heat was competing with the extreme cold from the deep-freeze and Harry heard one of his glass bowls shatter from the temperature changes. A shard of it sliced across his cheekbone and he dropped to the ground with the practiced moves of a soldier, groping for his wand.

Another glass object exploded and Harry covered his head with his arms, feeling rage and fear build up inside him. He struggled to control himself and tried a general _Finite Incantatem_ , but the machinery still rampaged out of control. The magical heat and cold was wreaking havoc on him and Harry felt himself losing concentration, the blood on his cheek dripping onto his white smock. This annoyed him to no end; he made another superhuman effort and managed to exert a charm strong enough to cocoon all the machines in separate magical barriers. The effort drained his remaining energy and he slumped against the door of one of the floor-cupboards, touching the cut on his face with a trembling hand.

There was a _pop_ and Harry sincerely hoped it was Malfoy dropping in for one of his constant check-ups on the cakes for Zabini's party. He groaned weakly as Frank's head peered over the top of the prep table, dark eyes concerned.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Harry struggled to rise and Frank came around, reaching for him. Harry slapped his hands away and skittered back, breathing rapidly. "No thanks to you, of course."

"Oh, _Harry_." Frank's face was superciliously concerned and Harry wanted to kick his teeth in. "This is why you _need_ me."

He waved his wand around, the movements magnanimous; Harry felt Frank's magic rush through the barriers he had put over the appliances and they quieted down instantly. Frank turned his toothy smile onto Harry, who frowned up at him, dispersing the incredible amount of energy he had generated into the magical barriers.

"Tomorrow morning, I want your company to come and dismantle _every single layer_ of these charms." Harry went up to his knees and rested his forehead against the warm wood of the cupboards, gasping a little. Frank hauled him unceremoniously up by the armpits and Harry snarled at him, pulling away and stumbling back. "I'm going to re-fit my kitchen with another company, Frank. Without your charms. Without you."

Frank stepped close. His eyes were slit down into dark lines; Harry remembered that Frank always wanted to have his way. There were very few who would thwart him, but Harry had not been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing. "That would not be a good choice, Harry. You and I, we are--"

"Over. Leave me alone, Frank. Get out of my kitchen and I've told you already: get out of my _life_."

Instead of looking shocked or angry, Frank simply had a sly expression flitting across his darkly handsome features. He gave Harry a long considering look out of the corner of his eye, apparently calculating Harry's weakened state from throwing out all those wandless charms, his wand somewhere under one of the prep tables and not in his hand. Harry tightened his lips as Frank raised his wand, a nasty grin on his face; he didn't know if he had enough energy to put up a wandless _Protego_ , but he would simply try. He had to.

" _Impe_ \--" Frank began, but he was suddenly hauled bodily from in front of Harry and flung across the room, hitting a brick wall with a satisfying crunch and sliding down the wall. Harry stared at him for a long moment and then turned his head to the doorway, where Dobby was standing with his hands still raised...right in front of the tall black-clad form of Malfoy.

Harry blinked at them and closed his eyes, his head falling forward. He felt his face being lifted and Malfoy was standing in front of him, grey eyes carefully blank as he held Harry's chin in one gloved hand.

" _Episkey_ ," he muttered, pointing his wand at Harry's cheek and Harry winced, feeling the sides of the cut knit together quickly. "Anything else, Potter?" He turned Harry's face from one side to the other and Harry put his hand on top of Malfoy's, feeling the soft material of the gloves under his flour-covered fingers.

"I'm alright."

"Should Dobby be disposing of Frank?" Dobby's ears were quivering in outrage and Harry peered down at him. "Dobby should be calling the Aurors."

"I didn't give you any direct command to attack Frank," Harry said, hearing his own voice sounding slightly slurred. Dobby, however, instantly looked shifty at his words. "I mean, thank you, honestly. But how did you manage to disobey like that?"

"Harry Potter was in trouble?" Dobby supplied and Harry gave him a hard look. Dobby sighed heavily, wringing his hands; but before he could say anything, Malfoy spoke up.

" _I_ gave him permission, Potter." Malfoy was still standing very close to him and Harry realised he still had his hand on top of Malfoy's on his face, their fingers intertwining. He pulled away and Malfoy cleared his throat. "I'll go see if Roberts is alright."

"Dobby used to be serving the Malfoys," Dobby explained in a low voice, looking up nervously as Harry frowned. "Dobby knows that Harry Potter says 'not until Dobby gets a direct order'. But Dobby is free-elf and Dobby can choose to listen to Draco Malfoy or not."

"That is... that's sort of confusing, Dobby," Harry sighed and heard Malfoy talking in a low voice to Frank.

"I'll take you to Wizarding Court, Malfoy," Frank threatened, getting up with pained grunts. "Attacking me while I was having a perfectly private conversation with Harry. I'll sue you for every last Galleon."

"That would be fine by me, since I didn't attack you at all." Malfoy regarded Frank's ruffled countenance with a smug grin. "Harry Potter's elf defended his master. And you're well aware of the laws elves are governed by. They will defend with no limitations when they perceive that their master in danger. Not to mention those laws covering charms placed on Muggle appliances, that prove to be dangerous to the user."

Harry kept his mouth shut. He had put Dobby (who could be a little over-enthusiastic when it came to Harry) under an extra command: he was to stand-down unless his master gave him a clear and direct order. There had been a few embarrassing incidents when Dobby had perceived some sort of 'danger' and had reacted extraneously. Apparently and quite luckily, Dobby had seen it fit to bend his rules in this situation.

And he had been assisted by _Malfoy_ , who was now standing with his hands folded across his chest, facing off with Frank Roberts. His profile was to Harry, who could see him gripping his wand in one hand, sticking out from under the folds of his robes. Harry was actually having a strange moment of feeling like a damsel-in-distress, made even stranger by the fact that it was Draco Malfoy acting as his defender. He fought the urge to look around himself, to see if he had fallen in some sort of parallel universe.

"Ahhh. I see." Frank's eyes glittered hatefully. "Malfoy takes over again." He ran a hand through his long dark hair and sneered at them both. "A former Death Eater, Harry? I thought you had better taste than that."

"I'm sure he does," Malfoy said in a bored tone. His gaze snapped over to Harry and there was a heavy warmth in his eyes. "I'll be sure to assist Potter to improve his taste in the charms for his bakery."

There was a long silence, where Frank's eyes shifted to Harry, who stared back steadily, retrieving his wand from Dobby with dangerous calm. Harry could still feel Malfoy's eyes resting on him, seemingly with approval. He gathered his magic close to himself and saw both men react at the movement of it against them: Frank with a sort of leering hunger that he didn't even seem to know he was doing; and Malfoy with simply a deep inhale and then a stillness of his entire frame.

"Remove your charms." Harry was using the threatening voice he had developed in the war. The corner of Frank's eye twitched and Harry tensed as he lifted his wand; but there was simply a bright glow around his appliances that appeared and disappeared quickly. "Our contract is forfeit."

"Harry," Frank said, but Dobby stepped in front of him and if Harry wasn't mistaken, Dobby might have been showing his teeth. Later, he would probably laugh wearily over the whole situation; right now, he was using all his energy in looking at Frank as if he was something foul beneath at the sole of his shoe.

Frank nodded once and then Apparated out; Harry adjusted the wards to block his magical signature. Immediately he located a stool, sat on it and rested his head on the nearest counter-top.

"Ugh."

"Are you sure you're alright, Potter?" Malfoy's voice was close to his ear and Harry refrained from jumping. "I can't have you being ill before you finish my job."

"I'm fine, Malfoy. Now, I only need a new Charms company to place the protective spells on _all_ my appliances." Harry groaned, his voice muffled on the sleeves of his working jacket. "Umwandeln was the only one I knew." He paused and then turned his head slowly, looking at Malfoy, who was leaning over him as if he hovered over Harry Potter every day. "But... _you_ use a different company. Come on, tell me who they are. If you need Zabini's cakes, you'll tell me."

"Don't bribe, Potter, it's unbecoming on a Gryffindor." Malfoy moved away to another stool, searching in his robes for something; Harry took the time to look at his hair, the neat fall of it, intrigued as always by the colour. He stared for a bit longer at Malfoy, who finally found what he was looking for and held it in Harry's direction, looking at him in a sidelong fashion. "That's the company I had utilised when replacing Frank Roberts. They are a young business, but their services are quite efficient so far."

Harry took the small white card out of his hands slowly, and the corner of Malfoy's lips tilted up slightly. Harry took a long look at it: it was a simple business card, with silver lettering announcing the name and nature of the business.

"And I can trust them."

"I did. And their proprietor is probably not your type, anyway."

Harry blinked at him and then tightened his lips, annoyed and exhausted. He gave Malfoy a jerky nod and then tucked the card in his pocket, turning on the stool to flick his wand at the glass-riddled kitchen. His magic still felt a little wobbly after all his exertion and his head was a throbbing, aching mass; he longed to just have a tiny nap.

"Ah. I see I've offended you." Malfoy's voice was low and very close. Harry rolled his eyes and tapped his wand on the counter, sweeping off any remaining shards onto the ground, where Dobby was orchestrating a waltz of brooms. "Surprisingly, that was not my intention... Harry."

Harry turned to stare at Malfoy, who slipped out of the kitchen with a secretive smile, leaving both Harry and Dobby to stare at the swinging door.

"Don't say a word," Harry warned as Dobby opened his mouth, his large eyes shining. Dobby's mouth snapped shut, but Harry could not stop him from humming that obnoxiously popular Weird Sisters' song, the one about being charmed into love. Harry glared at him, but Dobby's humming got louder and louder, until Harry actually fled into his office, shut the door and tried to think too much about Draco Malfoy calling him by his given name.

"Because that would be too much. Just...too much," he muttered, and stuck his head under a large open ledger to block out Dobby's humming.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry was in a completely horrible mood. The new Charms company, Ladon, was not able to come in for a few more days, due to their other clients. According to their owl post, they were clearing their schedule as quickly as possible, in order to give him their full attention at his bakery. Harry was torn between feeling gratified that they were treating him like a fairly normal client, and a deep sense of disgruntlement that they didn't come to attend to him right away.

He had stifled a long-suffering sigh when he had set the security wards and put up an apologetic sign on the decorative metalwork of the door, announcing a brief closure of his beloved bakery.

"Oh, Harry," Lavender had mourned earlier, one hand resting on her large belly as she watched him affix the sign. "Where will I get my shortbread biscuits? I get such desperate cravings."

"It'll only be for a few days, don't worry," he had reassured her, feeling dismayed himself. "I'll make sure to have an extra-large batch ready just for you."

Now, he was sulking in Hermione's kitchen, listening to her running commentary as he watched her cook dinner for her family. He could hear Ron outside with the girls, their high-pitched laughter drawing him slowly out of his bad mood.

"Frank Roberts, that bastard," Hermione said darkly as she spelled a sharp knife to quickly chop the carrots. "Harry, he tried to put you under _Imperio_! In your weak state, you might not have been able to throw it off easily. You should really report him."

"I will," Harry replied, setting another knife to peel the potatoes. "I'll pop over to Kingsley for a little chat." Hermione gave a nod of agreement as he deftly lit the stove and then peered over her shoulder, eying the preparation of the chicken. She rolled her eyes and stepped away from the counter, handing him the container of curry powder; he grinned unabashedly and took over completely, as he had been itching to do since he had sat down to watch her.

"I can't _believe_ Malfoy gave Dobby the order to attack him, though." Hermione sat down primly where Harry had been before. "I mean, he was all shining knight for you, which is infinitely strange for me to absorb, believe me."

"Same here." Harry shook out some black pepper, considered a bit and then added a touch before sending the bowl over to a pot of heated oil, listening to the sizzle as the seasoned meat hit the oil; savoury smells filled the small old-fashioned kitchen and Hermione sniffed in appreciation. "I was glad for the help, though." Harry had to turn his face away a little, hiding the little smile he was sure would be on his face as he stirred with a large spoon. Hermione didn't seem to notice, bustling forward to commandeer the potatoes. "Frank was out of his damned mind."

"Oooooohhh," a high voice floated in through the kitchen window. "Uncle Harry said a naughty word! Daddy! Uncle Harry said a naughty word!"

"I _heard_ ," Ron said in an affectionately exasperated voice. "Harry! Do you mind? The bad word Bobby is out here."

"Hope," Hermione said low, "is on this absolute _trip_. Anyone says a naughty word within five miles, she's on their case. We've taken to calling her the bad word Bobby."

Harry laughed and shook his head. He was supposed to be making jam roly-polies for the girls, but Hermione had put her foot down, saying that since they had a visit arranged at the Malfoy manor the next day, they'd be getting far too many sweets over there anyway. Hope had strangely requested that Dobby come with them, having extracted out of the house-elf his former history of working for the Malfoys. Hope was like a little human version of _Veritaserum_ , once she got her mind fixated on someone. Quite like her mother, he supposed.

"What was the name of the company Malfoy gave you?" Hermione asked as she tilted the chopping board of potatoes into the pot of curry. Harry rifled through his pocket and found the business card, handing it over as he continued to stir.

"'Ladon Charms Agency,'" Hermione read aloud. "'Specialising in Protective and Maintenance Charms.' Hmmm." She tapped the edge of the plain white card against her nose, her eyes gaining that far-away glaze which meant she was retreating into her brain for some snippet of information. "Ah, yes. _Ladon_ was in one of those labours of Heracles. He had to defeat Ladon to get to the Golden Apples."

"Umm," Harry murmured abstractedly, taking a sample of the cooking food and adjusting the taste. Hermione gave him a long, shrewd stare.

"Ladon was a _dragon_ , Harry." She smiled as Harry turned to gaze at her. "Dragon? Draco? Bit convenient, isn't it?"

"He would use his own company to supply charms to the Ministry labs he supervises?" Harry asked incredulously and then remembered it was a Slytherin he was talking about. "Oh, yes. He would."

"You have quite the pattern going on here, Harry," Hermione said, her brown eyes as teasing as Hope's as she slipped the card back into his pocket. "Owners of companies, married men--"

"Malfoy's divorced," Harry said shortly and Hermione's grin got large. "That... that doesn't mean anything."

"Does too!" Hermione crowed, sounding more like her daughters than a full-grown witch. "Ron told me all about those pureblood types. A lot of them, if they're gay, marry for the heirs and then take on a lover. Malfoy's not so bad."

"Apart from the fact that it's _Malfoy_ , no. And I doubt he's gay." Something inside Harry though, was fervently wishing for this to be a lie. Hermione must have caught the expression on his face and her smile got impossibly wider. "Oh, _shite_."

"Oooooooooooh!" Hope screeched and Harry winced. "NAUGHTY!"

"Notty!" Fern echoed, giggling. "Notty, notty."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Hermione yelled and yanked the kitchen curtains wide. "Just come in for dinner, will you?"

As they stampeded in, Harry managed to curtail his treacherous blush, but Hermione seemed to communicate everything in one wink to Ron, who turned to Harry with raised eyebrows.

"What, Daddy?" Hope asked eagerly, having caught the look. "Did he say another naughty word?"

Ron, whose eyes were fixed on Harry, shook his head slowly and Harry felt something inside him loosen, as if it had been caught up in some large anxious knot. No matter how he might feel about Malfoy, Ron was alright with it... well, as alright as Ron could get, anyway.

"How about that curry, mate?" Ron finally said and Harry helped Hermione dish out the steaming food into large platters, carrying and levitating the lot over to the dining table. They ate comfortably, Fern hovering in her high-chair right beside her favourite uncle; she insisted on blowing on her spoonfuls of warm food, her cheeks puffing out with the action. Harry thought she was the cutest thing ever.

"Notty," Fern said, tiny teeth chomping merrily. "Notty 'Arry."

"Be quiet, you," Harry chided and brushed his fingers through her hair as she giggled.

***

Harry felt much better by the next morning, using the lazy Sunday to putter around his friends' house and look after his girls, as Ron and Hermione took a 'breather'. Tomorrow, Ladon would be in his bakery to layer his appliances with protective charms and Harry found himself wondering more than once that if Malfoy was indeed the owner, if he would be audacious enough to show up himself.

At midday, when the girls had their play-date at the Manor, a house-elf knocked on the back-door.

"Good day, Mr. Harry Potter, sir!" The elf squeaked as Harry balanced Fern on his hip, having dressed her and Hope in their play-clothes, the hardiest they had. "Sibbie is here for the littlest Weasleys."

"Oh." Harry felt slightly disappointed that Malfoy hadn't come himself, but squelched that as he set Fern on the ground and straightened her little denim pinafore. "Dobby! The girls are on their way over."

Dobby slunk out of the kitchen, looking just a little apprehensive. He had tried to get out of going with them to the Manor, but Hope would hear nothing of it. His large ears drooped just a little as he took Hope's hand and he fixed Harry with a brave look as the other house-elf held onto the girls as well and they faded out of view. Harry shook his head and went to sit inside Ron's cluttered office, going over his work-schedules and updating his supplies-listing. The Zabini birthday party was in another four days and Harry had another bridal shower to cater for; he needed to get everything in order. He was not a particularly structured person; having a business did wonders for his organizational skills.

"The girls have gone already?" Hermione asked, sticking her head in and blinking at Harry; her hair, which was usually under firm control nowadays, had reverted to its normal bushy state. She adjusted her clothes and wrinkled her nose at Harry as he chuckled.

"You two should really take more 'breathers,'" Harry teased, pushing aside his work diary. "Maybe my next god-child will be a boy."

"Be quiet," she replied mildly. "Although a boy would be nice. And you can't have them all as godchildren! No, Harry," she chided as Harry pouted playfully. "Learn to share."

"I'd prefer all girls," Ron put in as he passed on his way to the kitchen. "Trust me, sometimes boys are a pain. Or all the time, from what Mum says."

Hermione hummed in amusement and then tilted her head as she sat on the edge of the desk and peered into Harry's diary, pointing to the entry in his atrocious handwriting that marked Zabini's party.

"I'll just bet this is an all-Slytherin do. You'd better be careful, Harry," Hermione said slyly. "Those Slytherin parties are rumoured to be dens of debauchery."

"Oh, come on." Harry snapped his diary shut and glared up at her. "First of all, I'm only catering the pastries and cakes; I'm not a guest. Secondly, with the children there, no _debauching_ will take place. Silly woman."

"Well, they're coming over _here_ ," Ron said dryly as he trudged past the open study door again, munching on a large packet of the children's favourite crisps. "Don't ask me why Hermione did this, but she offered to have Io over for a sleepover and baby-sit the boy. Obviously, my wife is insane."

"Io is a well-mannered child and Ricky is a lovely little baby," Hermione sniffed. "And when has Malfoy taken a break? If we didn't have Harry or Ginny to watch the girls from time to time, we'd be driven up the wall. He's had them on his own for awhile now. I hear Io calls him at work when she gets home from school and he always listens patiently to her recount of the day."

"Where did you hear that?" Harry said, interestedly.

"Io told Hope. Apparently, she actually _said_ 'recount'. I had to send Hope to look it up for herself in her Little Magic Dictionary."

"So, you might want to watch your back at that party, Harry," Ron yelled as he climbed the stairs, still crunching. "Or, maybe not! If that's what you're angling for."

"I hate you two, sometimes," Harry grumbled, going back to his listings as Hermione rushed out to accost Ron on the stairs.

***

"How was your visit yesterday, Dobby?" Harry asked as he opened his shop, looking down at his house-elf. Dobby had returned to Harry's home yesterday looking very thoughtful and quiet and Harry had decided not to press him until now.

Dobby pursed his mouth and wriggled his ears, the supplies they had bought hovering behind them.

"When Master Lucius was at the Manor, it was being a most dark place," Dobby finally answered, following Harry into the front of the shop and through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the front, gazing at the quiescent appliances. "Master Draco is looking very much like his father, but not the same. The Manor is looking very much like it did when Dobby served there. But now it is being much lighter."

"Lighter?" Harry began unpacking the ingredients in the storage room, and Dobby nodded.

"Yes. There are only a few shadows that we house-elves can see, but mostly, it is light."

"Ah." Harry smiled at Dobby and then turned as the Floo flared lowly, indicating that someone on the other end wanted to converse. He went over to it, peering down in the flames, but no head was present. "Hello? Who is it?"

"Ladon Charms," a voice responded gruffly and Harry felt a little shiver of anticipation. "May I come through?"

"Give me a moment." Harry adjusted his wards and chanced a look at Dobby, who seemed to be tensing up for a fight. He shook his head sternly and Dobby deflated only a little, his large eyes still shining in an expectant manner. "Come through, then."

The green flames went higher and Harry stepped away a bit. A large-framed person in coveralls tumbled through; not Malfoy, then. He wasn't this heavy-set. But it _was_ someone Harry recognised and he raised one eyebrow at Vincent Crabbe.

"Morning," Crabbe said uncomfortably and Dobby glared. "I'm here to layer your... things."

"I thought Malfoy would come himself?" Harry questioned quickly and Crabbe shrugged without thinking.

"Me too. I mean," Crabbe continued, looking slightly taken-aback, "Why should he? Which should I shield? These?" He asked before Harry could fire anymore questions at him. Harry simply pointed out the ones and Crabbe lumbered over, taking out a tiny clipboard out of his front pocket and enlarging it. He ran a thick finger down the parchment, nodded and took out his wand to establish the protective charms, mumbling under his breath.

"Why don't you buy Wizarding appliances?" Crabbe questioned with a faintly accusatory air as he charmed the spiral mixer. "Then, you wouldn't need to shield these Muggle ones."

"Wizarding appliances aren't as specialised yet," Harry replied, setting up his work-tables. "And my magic is too intrusive to do everything that way. You can taste it if I used it all the way."

Vincent grunted, flicked his wand a little more and then motioned to Harry.

"Go on, do some magic," he explained as Harry looked at him curiously. "Test the shield charms."

Harry pondered and then let out a burst of sheer magic. The shields crackled green and resisted as Harry pressed harder. Pleased, he nodded at Vincent, who was blinking at him.

"Now I see why you beat V-Voldemort." Crabbe nodded at him. "I guess we should be thankful for that."

"I guess," Harry smiled, taking the oblique compliment with grace. "Tell Malfoy thanks."

"I don't know what you mean," Crabbe said archly, handing Harry the bill and ambling over to the fireplace. "What does Draco have to do with anything, anyway?"

Harry smiled to himself.

"Maybe a little," he said to Crabbe, whose eyes widened a bit before the flames whisked him away. "Maybe a lot," he said half-wonderingly to Dobby, who simply tried to look wise as they continued to set up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Illustration by:** [](http://azrielen.livejournal.com/profile)[**azrielen**](http://azrielen.livejournal.com/). Thank you so much for your beautiful work.

Harry and Dobby began working quickly as soon as Crabbe finished, the Charms layered over the appliances holding out well. The bridal shower, which was Ginny's, was booked two days before the Zabini party. With his regular customers actually Floo-calling anxiously, Harry was grateful to have Dobby's rapid help. There was also a form attached to the bill Crabbe had given him, with questions directed at the function of the charms; during the extremely busy day, Harry took some minutes to inspect the charms, forcing them to show as he bombarded them with some more magic.

Upon a much closer look, the layers were tightly woven: yellow and blue so closely knotted together that the effect of green was all that was observed from a few steps away. Apparently, _this_ blue layer blocked the magic without disturbing the physical space; Harry could touch it without having his magic being absorbed by the Muggle material and wreaking havoc on the electrical system, which was also protected from where it was connected to the main. And the yellow one, that was some sort of secondary preservation layer, backing up the stronger blue one by blocking any magic it happened to let through.

It was extremely clever, Harry thought, getting up from where he had been kneeling on the floor. Crabbe might be a fairly strong person, magically, but to think out these Charms took a good grasp of spell-work. The parchment on his clipboard must have had step-by-step instructions.

As he was putting out the readied pastries, including shortbread biscuits that were made into tiny towers, (to Lavender's unending delight), the light apple tarts, and a small army of roly-polies for the small children who would be brought in by their parents later in the day, a short-eared owl landed outside the shoppe door and tapped imperiously. Lavender, popping a biscuit in her mouth, was the one to let it in; it hopped inside, flew up a little to one of the chairs and waited on the back of it politely as Harry came around to take the envelope and give it a treat. It was a lovely dark bird, mottled with a yellow pattern, eyes interested as Harry opened the envelope.

"Why, that's the Malfoy crest," Lavender said through another mouthful of pastry, looking over Harry's shoulder as he slid out the folded parchment. "Oh! You've gotten an invitation to the Zabini party!"

"I can see that," Harry said dryly, watching as the empty surface of the heavy parchment began to fill with an elegant hand, a far cry from Harry's near-unreadable scrawl. It declared that " _Mr. Harry James Potter is cordially invited to the birthday celebration of Blaise Zabini at the Malfoy Manor_ " and that he was to " _kindly RSVP with Zeus_ ".

"Zeus?" he wondered and the owl hooted in response. "Oh, that's you."

Underneath all of that, another, more informal message had been inscribed, in the same slanted handwriting:

 _Harry,  
My deepest apologies for sending this invitation late. I had been wasting time in wondering if you would have refused the invitation anyway and insist that you would only attend to cater. Nonetheless, it would be a great pleasure to see you there, as my guest.  
Draco Malfoy_

"Oh," breathed Lavender and then fixed Harry with a considering gaze. "Oh, alright. Aren't you going to RSVP?"

Harry felt just a little testy, probably stemming from the fact that he felt like he could hardly inhale, his eyes going over the words _it would be a pleasure to see you there_. "I'm...I don't know. It would be good to attend, I suppose," he finally managed. "I would probably be able to gain some more clients there. Networking and everything."

"Yes, yes, _networking_." Lavender waved her hand dismissively. She grinned at him as he rolled his eyes and he turned to address the owl, trying to recall the protocol of the whole thing.

"I'll be glad to attend," he told Zeus after a very brief hesitation; the owl hooted twice in acknowledgement and flew off through the still-opened door. Lavender gathered up her small paper bag of treats and waddled after it, favouring Harry with a small smile.

"I'm glad you're making friends with Malfoy," she said. "He was awful in school, mind you, but I suppose he did redeem himself in the war." She splayed a small hand over her belly and her smile grew inward. "If so many of them hadn't made the choice for our side in the war, I don't know where we would have been." She nodded at him and then stepped out, leaving Harry to watch her back thoughtfully.

He was slowly coming to the realisation that 'making friends' was not the end of what he wanted to do with Malfoy.

***

Ginny, who had been teasing her mother for _years_ that she was never getting married, had made sure to order an unusual cake for her bridal shower, which she had planned herself. The cake was multicoloured with stripes and circles; white polished fondant balls took the place of piping and the whole effect was quite whimsical. Ginny had claimed that it reminded her somewhat of Dean's artistic side; she laughed loud when it was delivered to the flat she and Dean shared and grasped at Harry in a massive hug.

"It's amazing!" she cried, walking around where it was placed on a small round display table. "Thank you so much, Harry." Ginny beamed at him and he grinned back. "I can't wait to see what you'll do for my wedding-cake. Are you sure you won't be able to put little naked dolls of me and Dean on top of it?"

"I won't give Molly a heart-attack," he told her sternly and she chuckled, brushing her long burnished hair out of her face. "I heard you were going to Zabini's party," he continued, almost casually, and her eyes danced at him. They had been friends for a long time and Harry loved her like a sister. She also took it upon herself to be his personal dresser, since Harry didn't care much about his appearance.

"Yes, Dean and I got invited as well. We'll be a brave little band of Gryffindors against all those Slytherins, right?" At Harry's nod, she grinned again impishly, and, not for the first time, Harry saw a flash of what Hope and Fern would look like when they got older. "Now, I'm off to confirm my booking at that male-stripping club. You think that will shock Mum sufficiently?"

"Gin, your mother survived the Fred and George Era of Doom. I doubt there's much left in the world to shock her."

"But I will surely try," Ginny vowed and giggled as Harry pinched her on the arm.

***

Harry delivered the mini fruit tarts, the pecan tarts and the flan-servings with Zabini's cake quite early on the day of the party and then returned to his flat to get ready, for some reason both thankful and disappointed that he didn't see Malfoy. He had quite a few formal robes to choose from, but Ginny claimed it would be a good choice to wear the dark-green one and he agreed as he pulled it out of the wardrobe and shook it. Dobby took it from him reproachfully and shooed him off to the bathroom; when he returned from his leisurely shower, it was waiting for him on the bed.

It was a close-fitting dress-robe with long sleeves; instead of a full fall of material to his ankles in the front, however, it was in the current fashion for it to separate into opened panels below the wide belt, showing the soft dark trousers worn beneath. Ginny had pointed out the lovely detail of the brocade in the shoulder-cap, and he had adored it ever since. He pulled it over his head and smoothed the material over his chest, smiling a little at his reflection in the full length mirror. Locating his gold-rimmed glasses, he replaced his normal black ones with this festive pair before he tied the belt firmly and tried to tame his hair.

" _Nice_ ," the mirror said in deep appreciation. "Malfoy will like what he sees."

"Excuse me, but I didn't ask for your opinion," Harry sniffed and then wrinkled his brow. "You think?"

"I _know_ ," the mirror assured fervently and Harry laughed a little at their foolish banter before Apparating to the front door of the Manor. He was met by an excited-looking Neeky, who scurried in front of him as they made their way to a large crowded room, curtseying as she left him at the door and popping out of sight.

The hall where Zabini's party was held was a large space, walls towering to darkened apexes overhead. There were round balls of light hovering closer, illuminating the individual faces of the chattering crowd. He spotted Ginny's bright fall of hair almost immediately, set wonderfully against the rich pattern of her gown, Dean tall and handsome beside her. They were talking with people Harry recognised as former students of Ravenclaw house and he waved at them as they spotted him. Pushing his way to the cake display table, he was very pleased to note that the house-elves had set up everything according to his instructions.

Looking around, he saw that there were a lot of Slytherins, most of them from his year. Quite a few of these Slytherins had gone into hiding during the War and Harry had been glad for this; he had not wanted to face off with any of them during the long battles. They gave him long looks as he passed them to the bar, quick nods when he made eye-contact, and then went back to their conversations.

"Mr. Potter," the bartender greeted him warmly and Harry nodded as he sat at the polished counter. "How may I serve you this evening?" The bartender was young and fit, his hair almost as black as Harry's, sporting a rakish grin. Harry gave him a small smile.

"What would you recommend?"

"Ah, for Harry Potter?" The bartender looked around himself dramatically, waving his wand and dodging the hovering bottles with practiced ease. A few of them poured themselves into a tall, thin glass, creating a blue concoction. "You _have_ to try the Blue Merlin."

Harry reached out and dragged the glass towards himself, looking at it in interest.

"It's subtle, yet strong. Careful." The bartender winked at him; Harry took a tentative sip, savouring the sharp flavour and then jumped a little as a hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

"A Gryffindor in green," Malfoy murmured directly in his ear. "How charming."

Smiling wryly at the bartender's obvious disappointment, Harry turned his head slightly, thrilled that Malfoy did not move away; his lips brushed at Harry's ear, tickling a little.

"I must admit, I am delighted to see you here without your chef's jacket," Malfoy continued warmly as Harry managed to pull himself away to face him. Malfoy's eyes flickered down over his clothes and his mouth tilted up in an appreciative smile. Looking at Malfoy's taller frame, Harry noted that he too was sporting a similar fashion, only in a muted burgundy that seemed to highlight his pale colouring. "I see we match."

"A Slytherin in red?" Harry mused, feeling brave. Maybe it was the drink. "It suits you."

"Bite your tongue," Malfoy muttered, but he looked pleased, his grey eyes alight as they fixed on Harry's.

Harry smiled into his drink, as Malfoy insisted on walking with him around the room, linked arm in arm together, regally ignoring the stares they were attracting. When they bumped into Zabini and Parkinson, Harry was feeling quite mellow from his Blue Merlin.

" _Lovely_ work on those cakes, Potter," Pansy said with that streak of insufferable haughtiness that was admirably muted in Malfoy now. Irritated, Harry nodded at her and turned to wish Zabini a happy birthday.

"My twenty-fifth," Zabini informed him with an amused edge to his sharp dark eyes. "Or is it my twenty-fourth? I can never remember." His gaze flicked from Harry to Malfoy and then returned to rest knowingly on Harry. "For your sake," he said so quietly, that Harry strained to hear him. "I hope that you are as sweet as your creations."

"I'd rather you weren't," Malfoy said to him in a low voice as they took their leave of the celebrant. "Sweet is nice, sometimes. But there's more to you than that, I hope."

Harry grinned to himself, placing his empty glass on a hovering tray as they passed and allowing himself to be steered into a small alcove, a thick curtain falling partway over its opening. Harry leaned against one wall, folding his hands across his chest. His stomach seemed to be dominated by a herd of butterflies as Malfoy continued to stare at him.

"Why didn't you come layer the charms yourself?" Harry asked so abruptly that Malfoy seemed to start; then he gave a rueful chuckle, shaking his head.

"I wanted to." It was a bald admittance and Harry licked his lips a little nervously, feeling a little gratified that Malfoy's eyes followed the movement. "But, I refrained."

"Why?" Harry's voice was soft and Malfoy leaned towards him, reaching out a hand to touch him on the arm, right below the elbow. His hand travelled slowly up Harry's arm, the touch tentative, almost shy, until it rested right in the curve where his neck and shoulder met. Malfoy's hand was warm and heavy; Harry had the strongest urge to take it up and press his mouth to it. _This is Malfoy, this is MALFOY_ was the refrain that kept running through his head, but he couldn't seem to pay attention to it, not with Malfoy moving to stand even closer to him.

"Because. I might have felt... unsure."

Now, Harry reached up his hand and placed it on Malfoy's, feeling the long fingers below his.

"You're a very powerful wizard," Malfoy continued. "I can feel it. And no matter how you try to avoid using your magic during your work, I can still taste it, in every bite. It's intoxicating. _You're_ intoxicating. I suppose I was trying to resist you."

"Resist me, or my magic?" Harry asked. Malfoy was bending close, tilting his head and Harry parted his lips expectantly.

"You _are_ your magic," Malfoy replied and suddenly his mouth was pressed against Harry's, who made a small, astounded sound before reacting.

Frank, loathe as Harry was to recall _him_ at a moment like this, had always claimed that Harry was a very responsive lover; Harry realised that this was true, from the way one of his hands had curled itself in the soft, long hair at the nape of Malfoy's neck, to the way the other was splayed against the decadent material covering Malfoy's chest, feeling the appreciative groans rumble there. Malfoy tasted strong and sure, there was no way else Harry could describe it, and he pulled himself away a little, not really surprised to find himself wrapped like Devil's Snare around Malfoy.

Feeling just a little embarrassed at this wanton display, he made to pull away, but Malfoy held him firm, a small pleased smile playing on his lips as he bent for another kiss.

Malfoy turned his head before their lips connected, frowning a little. Harry blinked, and listened; there seemed to be a greater buzz in the hall, a tense frisson of excitement outside. Malfoy flashed Harry a look of deep regret and inclined his head, indicating that they should go out of their comfortable alcove.

"After you," Harry murmured, feeling Malfoy's hand close around his wrist and pull him out. He cast furtive looks around to see if people had spotted them ducking from behind the curtain, but everyone's attention seemed to fixed in one direction.

Malfoy's fingers tightened around his wrist as the slender form of the former Lady Antonia Malfoy twirled into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Robe Designs](http://www.eq2alchemy.com/closet/), from Everquest II. I had been searching for a robe design and found these, made a little weird sketch and asked [](http://azrielen.livejournal.com/profile)[**azrielen**](http://azrielen.livejournal.com/) to dress Harry in it.  
> [Zeus](http://www.mbr-pwrc.usgs.gov/id/framlst/photo_htm/Images/h3670pi.jpg), if you'd like to know how Zeus looks. I think he's lovely.


	10. Chapter 10

Antonia Malfoy, since she still insisted on using that name, was as beautiful as Harry remembered her; but it wasn't a delicate beauty such as Narcissa Malfoy possessed. Harry, who was feeling particularly uncharitable at the moment, thought of her as owning a sort of broad prettiness, enhanced by layers of charms and make-up. Her long black hair was piled artfully at the top of her head, a single lock curling right above the swell of her breasts, exposed by the low cut of her robes. She was busy air-kissing Pansy and Blaise, but her eyes narrowed as they focused on Malfoy's fingers wrapped around Harry's wrist.

Harry tried to pull away, but Malfoy held him firm.

"Draco," Antonia said in a syrupy, heavily-accented voice, overtones of her Italian heritage; it was surprisingly loud, carrying to the very ends of the sizable crowd. Whispered conversations sprang up around them and Harry began to feel horribly exposed. "Draco, my dearest. I thought, since I was not invited to my own daughter's party, I would attend this one." Her eyes, a cool shade of blue, fixed on Harry, who returned her gaze evenly. "I did not feel welcome at my sweet Iolanthe's celebration, can you imagine! Her own mother!"

She had the attention of the whole gathering now, silence pressing in after her little speech. Her chin tilted up as she directed a sneer at Harry and she snapped open a fan made of short peacock feathers, brushing the tips of the brightly coloured plumage across her _décolletage_. Harry stole a quick look at Malfoy, who had a small smirk on his face, completely relaxed.

"If you had any real maternal instincts, you would have remembered the actual date of Io's birthday." His tone was dry, at odds with the glint in his eye as the corners of Antonia's mouth twitched down. "As it was, I had to buy _your_ gift to her myself."

There was a choked sound from the crowd, a sound of subdued laughter and Antonia's face looked mutinous. Harry realised that she had not been expecting Malfoy to fight dirty whilst they were in a relatively public setting; he only barely managed to stop himself from dissolving into surprised chuckles. She did not seem to know her ex-husband at all. If the children had been here, Malfoy might have comported himself with the restraint of a Ravenclaw; as it was, Malfoy appeared more than ready to deal with whatever she threw at him. Harry allowed himself a small grin, even as Malfoy jerked his chin slightly in Blaise's direction.

"Time to cut my cake. I know it will be delicious," Blaise said immediately, clapping his hands a few times; nearly everyone turned gratefully towards him. "And I want to open my gifts. Stupid presents will be thrown in a bonfire, I promise you that."

As the rest of the amused guests headed towards the cake, which had very fine silver candles hovering around it, Malfoy, Harry and Antonia remained where they were, in a strange stand-off.

"I remember _you_ , Mr. Baker Man, Harry Potter," Antonia said to Harry icily. "Britain's so-called saviour, now only good for making stupid cakes. Fucking the help now, Draco?" Antonia jeered, opening and closing her fan as she glared at Harry. "Next, you'll be rutting with the house-elves."

"Get to the point," Malfoy said in a bored tone. "I have _friends_ to celebrate with." He gave Harry a heated sidelong look and Harry dropped his eyelids coyly, knowing almost intuitively that it would make Antonia even more enraged. He watched through his eyelashes as Antonia's lips thinned; she snapped her fan a few more times and then affixed a simpering expression on her face, the change almost dizzying in its rapidity.

"Draco, my heart. As the mother of our darling babies, I think I deserve more to my monthly stipend, don't you agree?" Her face was pulled into a mournful cast. "I simply cannot live for much longer on that amount that the foolish judge set. That was not fair."

"Antonia, I think it's more than fair you even _receive_ a stipend from the House of Malfoy. And, unluckily for you, that arrangement will not last much longer." Malfoy’s tone was cool. "Of course, you still have your visitation rights to see your _babies_. A right you have not seen fit to take advantage of so far."

"You're doing such a wonderful job with them," Antonia replied with a hard-edged grin. "Even though you're setting a _marvellous_ example with your new lover. A lover whose favourite activity is sleeping with married men. Oh yes," she continued, her voice rising again as Harry stared at her incredulously. "I know all about you, Mr. Baker Man. Seducing men away from their comfortable homes, destroying families. Draco, be careful, my dearest. He might leave you, since you’re not married any longer."

"What a crock of shit," Harry said crossly, speaking for the first time since this spectacle began and her eyes widened, peacock feathers flicking in her hand. "And you can stop with the loud talking. There's a Silencing spell active around us now, so you're wasting your breath." He could almost feel Malfoy’s amused perusal on the side of his face; Antonia's expression was a picture of surprised outrage. She snapped her wrist, waving her fan at the air around them and Harry's bubble shimmered into view, a silvery arch over their heads. Her wand was in her _fan_ , Harry realised; which was quite clever, if he thought about it. Where on that tight dress would she have placed a wand, anyway?

"Oh, what a pity," Draco murmured, pulling Harry even closer to his side as his ex-wife glared at them, the Silencing bubble serenely ignoring her attempts to bring it down; Harry did not even resist this action. Draco’s lean thigh was wonderfully warm and solid against his. "I was just about to go through a quite extensive list of lovers that my lovely ex-wife took to my own bed, to the point that Io once asked me about all her new 'uncles'."

"Our relationship was quite open, Draco," Antonia said heatedly. "Don't bother with your little act of morality. As soon as I gave you your children, you lost your interest in me and I had to resort to--"

"Why am I even listening to this _again_?" Malfoy wondered aloud, almost tiredly. "No, you are not getting a greater amount Galleons from me. No, I will not rethink my stance of ending your stipend the end of this year. As a matter of fact," he continued, eyes freezing shards in his face, snapping in distaste, "The House of Malfoy removes its protection from you. The name is no longer your privilege to wear. You have carried it for far longer that was necessary and I will not allow it any longer."

Antonia inhaled sharply at this pronouncement and her features went under an almost unnoticeable shift, the blue of her eyes becoming dull. Harry, who had never seen this kind of family magic in action, stared as Antonia's mouth opened in shock. She struggled to reclaim some poise, blinking rapidly for a few long moments and then, to Harry's unease, gave them a small, nasty smile.

"Alright, my precious dragon," she said softly, tapping her fan shut as her face seemed to twist into an ugly mask. "We will play this game? Then we'll play my way."

She brought her fan to her chin, looking thoughtful; without warning, she flicked it out in Harry’s direction, a burst of yellow light erupting from the tallest feather. Harry's focus was fixed on keeping the Silencing charm active around them and he dropped it instantly, holding a hand up in front of his face in a defensive action, muttering _Protego_ and hoping it would hold around himself and Malfoy, as reflexive as it was. A wandless _Protego_ had been his speciality in the war; it took concentration and energy, but Harry was glad to note that he had not lost his touch. Whatever she had thrown at him, he could feel the almost oily sensation of it against the surface of his protective sphere; he angled his Protego a little, so that her reflected spell ended up in a wall and not in the back of some unsuspecting guest.

"Have you gone mad? This is not just some _Baker Man_ ," Malfoy snarled incredulously as Harry clenched his fist and caused his shield to dissipate. "We fought in a _war_ , Antonia. You're quite lucky he didn't take your head off with that."

Harry, who had had no such intention at all, simply glowered at Antonia's shocked expression. He could see Ginny and Dean at the edge of the nearby crowd, frowning a little as they paid no attention to whatever Blaise was doing up front; Dean actually had his wand drawn and Harry nodded at him, giving him a ghost of a smile as Dean slipped his wand back into his robe-pocket. Ginny's face was suffused with concern, stepping forward and only stopping when Harry shook his head slightly. She wrinkled her brow at him and then gave him a small nod before turning back and urging Dean to do the same.

"Get out," Malfoy was now saying, his voice cool enough to make Harry shiver. "When and if you desire to see the children, contact me at my office. The wards here will not allow you in from now on."

"Draco--" Antonia began piteously and he cut her off with an impatient flick of his wrist. She took a deep breath, her eyes filling with suspiciously large tears; Malfoy rolled his eyes and these tears dried up instantly as she gave them both a surly glare. "Fine. But if I _starve_ , it will be on your head."

"There's a thing people call _work_ , Antonia," Draco said dismissively. "Try it some time."

"Ugh!" Antonia curled her top lip in distaste and stomped one foot childishly before Apparating, the _pop_ of her disappearance as intrusive as her voice. Harry exhaled heavily as he chanced a quick look at Malfoy's face, which was stoic, his jaw set.

"Will she try anything else?" Harry asked wearily and Malfoy raised his eyebrows at him.

"I'll make sure she won't spill your little secret, Potter," Malfoy said in flat, deliberate tone, removing his hand from Harry's wrist. Harry reached out, almost on instinct and seized Malfoy's hand, lacing their fingers together. Malfoy stared down at their joined hands and then gave Harry a questioning look, clenching their fingers a little more tightly than was necessary.

"It's not that." Harry's voice was soft. "Don't be a git; I don't care about Frank and all that. It's just... would she do anything to the children to get back at you?"

"She wouldn't dare," Malfoy said darkly. "She might be temperamental, but she's not _stupid_."

Harry grinned at him and Malfoy's stormy visage relaxed. "I was just making sure. You're a good father, Malfoy. Draco," he amended with a smile as Malfoy wrinkled his nose wryly, looking quite like his son in that moment. "She was right, you know. You _are_ doing a marvellous job with them."

"I try."

They were standing in the back of the crowd, smiling at each other like idiots as the crowd cheered Blaise's antics with his cake. The house-elves were darting around the crowd, handing out deceptively delicate-looking plates with massive slices perched on them.

"Here," Harry said, screwing up his purported courage as he snagged a plate from a passing tray. "Try this layer." He cut a morsel with the small fork and held it out to Draco. "It's dark chocolate... with a touch of coffee," he explained almost bashfully as Draco opened his mouth and he slid the fork in between his lips. Harry bit his bottom lip as the other man held his gaze, his grey eyes heated as he took a taste of the cake.

"Mmmm." Draco fluttered his eyes shut and inhaled deeply, chewing with great appreciation. "I love chocolate. And coffee."

"I know," Harry grinned, plying him with another bite. "There are two other cake-types, but this one.... well, I made it with you in mind."

"Did you?" Draco took the fork and plate from him when he finished chewing, cutting a piece himself. "It's really good. You should try some."

Harry thought he was going to hold the fork out as Harry had did before; instead, with a gleam in his eye, Draco placed the bit of cake in between his own lips, raising an eyebrow at Harry in a dare. Harry glowered at him mockingly before stepping close and placing his mouth against Draco's in a slow, open press of lips. The decadent flavour of the cake slid sensuously against his palate, backed up by that unique taste of Draco as the morsel was slipped into his mouth. He groaned as Draco's tongue curled against his and he swallowed the cake to get it out of the way, angling his head to one side as the kiss deepened

"Delicious," Draco murmured as they pulled away from each other. He cut another piece, feeding Harry with it. "And the cake is good too."

Harry snorted in amusement, tilting his head for another kiss. This kind of slow seduction was rather new to him, instead of the hurried trysts in obscure hotels; but the open nature of it all was what thrilled Harry the most. Earlier, when they had kissed in the curtained alcove, Harry had assumed that Draco had wanted to hide what they were doing; now, he thought he understood the value of a first kiss that was still private, yet not tinged with worry; there were a few titters around them as Blaise released his captive audience and the crowd returned to chatter with one another; Harry blushed, but did not feel the urge to stop kissing.

"We need to _stop_ ," Draco said, sounding strangled as he broke away from Harry again and he groaned at Harry's disappointed expression. "Don't pout. I'm finding that you are irresistible when you pout."

Harry pouted more, feeling sure he looked absurd. Draco, on the other hand, seemed to harbour no such thoughts. He quickly fed Harry the last bite out of the chocolate slice and then held out the plate, thanking the house-elf that appeared to take it.

"Let's go," he commanded, pulling Harry out of the main hall. Harry's blush, which had faded away, returned in full force as Ginny gave him a delighted grin when they rushed past. Hermione and Ron would be bursting with questions for him the next time they saw him.

"What about the party--"

"Blaise will take care of it. It's his, after all."

"Twenty-fifth or twenty-fourth, right," Harry recalled as they finally exited. Harry presumed they were making their way to Draco's suite. They might have made it in less time if Draco didn't stop every four steps or so to pull Harry against him, kissing him soundly until Harry could hardly breathe. The flavour of the chocolate was still heavy in their mouths and Harry tasted as much as he could, interrupting the kiss now and then to nip at Draco's ear, running his hands hungrily over the long planes of Draco's back.

"Just. Alright, wait, yes," Draco muttered nonsensically as they finally stumbled into a dark suite from the main hall, collapsing into a large sofa situated before a fireplace. Draco pointed his wand in a distracted fashion and the fireplace lit up, the low flames painting them in shades of rich gold. Harry found himself lying comfortably on his back, Draco lying in between his thighs and alternating between the long deep kisses that were currently overloading Harry's mind, and teasing nibbles to the sensitive skin on his neck, right under his ear, which set him shivering every time Draco's tongue slid against his skin to soothe the bites.

Their mutual arousal was heavy between them, the friction building heavy in their robes and Harry was so very close, widening his legs and moaning when Draco settled even more against him. Draco was whispering decadent things in his ear as they struggled to undo each other's robes while still trying to keep contact with their hands, their lips, their tongues.

The fire suddenly turned green.

"Daddy?" Io's piping voice came through and they both started, turning to look with wide eyes at the active Floo. "Daddy? Are you there?"

" _Shit_ ," Malfoy said under his breath and Harry stifled a slightly hysterical chuckle. "Yes, sweetie?" He continued in a louder voice, moving his warm weight from atop Harry, who was supremely glad that it was a voice-only connection. For now. He sat up hurriedly, adjusting his robes as Io's little face hovered into view, surrounded by the green flames. "Is something wrong? Are you alright?"

"I'm alright! I'm having loads of fun, Daddy. I asked Neeky if you were still in the party and she told me you went up to your room. Oh! Hello, Mr. Uncle Harry! Do you like Daddy's room?"

"I love it," Harry said warmly and Draco shot him a grateful look.

" _Harry's_ there?" Hermione's face appeared in the Floo as well and Harry groaned. "Oh. Wow. Well, then. Io just wanted to tell her father good night."

"And Ricky too," Io said, shifting so that Ricky's mischievous visage was seen as well. "Ricky has been a good boy, Daddy."

"I'm sure he has."

"Will you sing _The Starlight Witch_ for us, Daddy? We'll go to sleep right after, I promise." Io's eyes were hopeful and Draco looked at Harry regretfully.

"I will," he promised and his children whooped, making themselves comfortable near the fire to listen to what was obviously a favourite bedtime tradition. "Don't leave," he murmured to Harry, who had resigned himself to the very dismal thought that he would have to depart. "Wait for me, please. In the bedroom. _The Starlight Witch_ isn't very long."

"But what if I want to hear it too?" Harry laughed, trying to hide his delight as Draco made a wry face. "Of course I'll wait."

"Of course." Draco smiled and got up to kneel near the fireplace as Harry moved away, locating the bedroom. He slipped in, casting an appreciative eye on the large neat bed, but paused with the door still open, listening to Draco's low singing.

 _Adeline sleeps on cloud nine  
sailing in her dreams tonight  
take your broom and fly with me  
Adeline, my darling_

Harry smiled and backed away from the door, starting to undo the top buttons of his robes and waiting patiently for Draco to end his lullaby and come to bed.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry was sitting at a small writing desk in Draco's bedroom, flipping through an overly thick manual outlining _Standardised Safety Procedures in Ministry Laboratories_. He had lit a few candles around the room and the manual, being a very officious book, kept flashing very high, very red text about the dangers of an open flame. He ignored it, listening instead with a growing knot of excitement as Draco ended his bedtime lullaby and bid his children goodnight in a warm tenor. He smiled as the door opened behind him, his grin growing even more as Draco's mouth pressed into the crook of his neck, Draco's long blond hair cascading in the corner of his vision as he tilted his head to give that searching mouth more access.

"Are the children alright?" he managed and Draco chuckled in his ear.

"Yes, dear." Behind the gently mocking tone, there was something else in Draco's voice, a warm tinge that could have been appreciation, Harry was almost sure. "I'm glad you like them," Draco continued and Harry turned and rose up out of his chair, stepping into the inviting circle of Draco's arms. Draco's hands ran up and down his back, as if trying to record the skin underneath the material of his robes.

"What's not to like?" Harry asked before running the tip of his tongue along the seam of Draco's lips, pulling away teasingly as Draco opened his mouth in invitation. "They're good children. And I may fancy their father. A lot, actually."

"Do you?" Draco's voice was polite, as if they were having this conversation over brunch, completely at odds with the way he was intently unfastening Harry's wide belt. "Funny, I thought you and he were once sworn enemies."

"We were _teenagers_ ," Harry stressed and then huffed a little in surprise as Draco hurriedly yanked his robes over his head; he was quite sure that his hair was now standing on end. "We were both great idiots, most of the time."

"I see." Draco pulled him back into his embrace, hands now contentedly tracing idle patterns against the bare skin of Harry's back and neck as he gave him a kiss that started out as light and soft, which deepened rather rapidly into a sensual element of a long slow dance, Draco leading them towards the bed; as soon as the back of Harry's knees encountered the side of the bed, he sank down onto it, scooting backwards to sit back against the pillows. Draco followed him readily, their lips moving together in such a deliciously sensuous manner, tasting each other carefully as Harry unbuttoned Draco's robes, slowly pushing them off his shoulders. Draco shook the garment off his arms when long sleeves slid down to his wrists, tossing it off the edge of the bed and pressing Harry even more into the pillows, skin to skin.

Harry moaned, closing his eyes and widening his legs a little more so that Draco could settle even further into the cradle of his thighs; he opened his eyes with a sigh as he felt Draco take his face in large, gentle hands, thumbs stroking against the flushed skin of Harry's cheekbones. Harry breathed deeply as Draco began kissing him deeply again. He slid down to lie fully on the bed, revelling in the sensation of Draco's warm weight pressing against him. They rocked against each other, Draco's arousal firm against his thigh as he wriggled a hand between them to undo Draco's trousers.

Draco gave a strangled groan as Harry's hand finally slipped inside and wrapped around his cock; he was hot in Harry's palm, the skin soft and pulsing as Harry gave a gentle, experimental squeeze. Draco went up to hover over Harry, hands flat on either side of Harry's head. The flickering light of the candles revealed that the black of his eyes had blown wide to nearly take over the grey, his lips parted as Harry's hand continued its tortuous massage, pulling back the foreskin so that his thumb slicked through at the emerging pre-come before sliding back down the length of his cock, the soft curls at the base of it brushing at the side of Harry's hand.

"Harry, Harry," Draco whispered, grabbing at Harry's wrist in an almost desperate move and pulling it out. " _Merlin_ , Harry."

"Or you can just call me Potter," Harry whispered back inanely, laughing a little at Draco's exasperated, shaky chuckle. Draco sat back on his heels, undoing Harry's trousers and grinning wolfishly as Harry lifted his hips so that it could be pulled off; he tossed it away and ran his hands over Harry's thighs, eyes hungry. Harry refrained from covering his naked form with his hands like some cowering virgin, but he had not played Quidditch in so long, and so did not possess that sharp definition that came with playing that gruelling sport. He wasn't exactly out of shape, but he wasn't exactly in it either.

Whatever foolish fears he harboured were put to rest by Draco leaning forward quickly to latch his mouth over one wine-dark nipple. Harry gasped and writhed, arching up into Draco's mouth, one hand anchoring firmly at the nape of Draco's neck; he moaned even more as Draco's hand slid down between them to cup underneath his hard cock.

"You're loud," Draco observed in a low, contemplative tone, fingers wrapping around Harry intently, head moving from one puckered nipple to tongue at the other.

"Is that a problem?" Harry sat up quickly, causing Draco to sit back again in surprise; Harry placed a hand on his chest and pushed, so that Draco had to shift his legs from underneath himself, long limbs falling apart gracefully to accommodate Harry crawling between them. Harry pulled off his trousers and pants completely, trying not to salivate as he eyed the rosy cock jutting proudly out of a thatch of fair curls.

"No, not at all." Draco's sentence descended into a moan as Harry slid all the way down his body, pressing his knee up and placing his mouth the joint, then descending down his inner thigh with a trail of similar light kisses. He inhaled that musky scent that was all Draco, rubbing his cheek against the soft skin of his cock; he found that he couldn't help himself at all and he was moved by Draco's short gasps to kiss that same side, feeling it twitch underneath his lips. His tongue slipped out and licked that patch of skin; he felt Draco's hands slide into his hair, stroking through the thick, dark strands.

Harry kissed him again, now tilting his head down to press reverent lips against his bollocks, and the way Draco's hips tilted up, he was enjoying this mightily.

"I can't wait," Harry said suddenly, voice husky with need as he made his way back up Draco's body. "I had all these plans to taste you, but I just want more, now." He bit his lip, straddling Draco's lap and feeling the hard length nudge insistently against his cleft. "I'll... shall I put on the barrier spell? I can do that, if you want."

Draco nodded. He watched avidly as Harry raised his index and second finger to his lips, whispering the spell against them; lowering his hand between their bodies, he opened those two fingers in a V and slid them down the sides of Draco's cock, drawing a light sheath over it, shimmering in the dim light of the candles. Stronger and lighter than a Muggle condom, if done right. All secure, Harry tried to return his hand close to his face, but Draco grasped his wrist, drawing Harry nearly off balance.

"Let me," he said in a low voice, taking a quick opportunity to lick Harry's palm from wrist to fingertip. Harry made a tortured sound, watching as Draco placed a lubricant charm on his own long fingers and sliding his hand in between Harry's legs, sitting up a little to go further back; Harry closed his eyes tightly and arched his back, pressing into the sensation of careful stretching, jumping a little as that small rounded nub was found inside him, massaged teasingly.

"Draco," Harry groaned and those clever fingers immediately exited his body, hands grabbing onto his hips as Harry blindly swiped and grasped onto Draco's cock, raising up a little on his knees and shifting, before inhaling deeply and sitting slowly back down; he exhaled shakily, feeling Draco slide inside him, Draco's body tense beneath his as their pelvises met. Harry pressed his palms flat on the bed, wholly within the moment of just being aware of Draco pulsating inside him, his head bent forward. He felt a hand brush at his long fringe and smiled before opening his eyes, looking down at Draco's face, which was a mixture of amazement and delight, the candlelight soft against his features.

"You feel--" Draco began and was cut off by Harry starting to shift backwards and forwards unhurriedly, a sly smile gracing his face. "Oh, god."

" _Potter_ ," Harry corrected again, hips moving a little more quickly as he tried to snigger at Draco, but only came up with a series of low, sharp groans.

" _Harry_ ," Draco breathed and did something that involved a twisting motion of his hips; Harry wasn't too sure, he was busy taking note of the resulting feel of this movement, squeezing Draco in retaliation.

"Oh," Harry whimpered, rendered to sheer gibberish in his mind as they moved together, Draco bumping against that place inside him that made him moan with every beat. Large, capable hands gripped tightly onto his waist still and there was someone calling Draco's name in a horrendously noisy fashion in the room; Harry was not too far gone to not make a dim note that this was himself. There was a tightening of all his body, it seemed, focusing on his groin, and Draco made this even more pronounced when his hand circled around Harry, tugging and urging as their rhythm became wilder.

Harry had always heard of people's toes curling, but as his body went taut above and around Draco, he could feel his own toes clenching in the sheets, Draco shaking helplessly in his own orgasm beneath him even as Harry came, biting his lip and spilling in between Draco's fingers, trying hard not to collapse all over the other man in a nerveless heap of sweaty, sated wizard.

"Come on," Draco said, his voice as satisfied as Harry felt; there was a exhausted flurry of arms and legs, Harry giggling in a very tired fashion as Draco settled them under the covers.

"I'm a little sore," he informed Draco matter-of-factly as Draco ended the sheath spell on himself and did a quick cleaning charm on them both. "But give me a few hours and I'll be ready to taste you then. Deal?"

"Deal. But I need some cake. For a sugar-rush. You're insatiable, Potter."

"I'm glad you've found this out. Sleep," Harry ordered and jabbed Draco in the side with his elbow before cuddling against him. Snuggling was another novel thing, he found; in his previous sham of a relationship, there had been no time for such comfortable mundane activities as snuggling. As Draco extinguished the candles, Harry smiled to himself, wriggling contentedly when Draco's arms snuck around him.

***

Harry sat at a small table tucked in the corner of the massive Malfoy kitchen, drinking a massive cup of fragrant coffee as the morning light streamed out of the high windows. He had already floo-called the bakery and was told by a smug Dobby that most of the pastries had either been put or sent out for the day; all that was left to do were the made-to-order cakes for the parties Harry had booked.

The kitchen door crashed open and Io came rushing in, her hands full of books and crayons, followed by Hermione carrying Ricky. They stopped short and stared at him, dressed in a Malfoy house-robe and blushing, before Ricky wriggled out of Hermione's grasp to make his way over and clamber up into Harry's lap.

"Good morning," Harry smiled, reaching for one of the small muffins he had made this morning, finding it hard to break the habit of baking early. The house-elves had gone all weepy until Harry had reassured them that their cooking was quite fine, he just liked doing this himself. He handed it to Ricky, who peered at it in interest before taking a massive bite.

"I just brought them over. Io has school in an hour or so. So, er... Later? You'll come over to see the girls?" Hermione backed out with a knowing smirk and Harry rolled his eyes and nodded, remembering to brace himself for the heavy round of questioning later. Even Ron would want the 'gory details', as he put it.

"Hello," Io said shyly, pushing a chair close as Hermione left and sitting in it as Harry used his free hand to steady it. "May I have one?"

"Sure. I made them for you." Harry pushed the platter close to her and poured a glass of juice, making sure not to jostle her brother in his lap. She kept staring at him as she chewed, and then cleared her throat. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" She blinked at him, grey eyes wide. "I mean... did you make these for Daddy too?"

Harry looked down into her earnest face, open and trusting; he put out his arm and hugged her close, knowing that he would grow to love her as much as Fern and Hope. The both of them, Harry thought, wincing a little as Ricky turned to stand in his lap, trampling all over precious bits and trying to pull off Harry's glasses.

"Yes, I made them for Daddy, too," he laughed as he dodged Ricky's quick little hands.

"Daddy!" Ricky bellowed in Harry's ear. "Cake-daddy!"

"Daddy!" Io echoed, but she had slipped down out of her seat and ran towards the kitchen door, where she was caught and thrown in the air by Draco's strong hands, giggling as she held out her muffin. "Look! Uncle Harry made these for us." She smiled at her father, looking sly. "But Ricky called him Daddy, too."

"I heard." Draco stuck her under his arm like a sack of potatoes and strode over to the table, her uproarious laughter echoing around the room. They sat together, and Harry's small smile got even larger as Draco's hand found his on the surface of the table. Io's eyes were round and shining even as Ricky hung off Harry's neck, babbling in baby-talk. "I heard."

Harry felt this moment could not get any more perfect, even as he squeezed Draco's hand.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was dedicated to [](http://moon-of-my-soul.livejournal.com/profile)[**moon_of_my_soul**](http://moon-of-my-soul.livejournal.com/).

Harry carefully turned the dais around until the little figures on top of Ginny and Dean's wedding cake were facing out towards the decorated orchard behind the burrow; the trees were lit up with fairy lights, bright in the dusk as the wedding guests milled around the tables covered with shimmering table-cloths, peering at the little folded cards for their names. The ceremony itself had ended a half-hour ago or so and Harry had Apparated to the Burrow immediately to check on the display, nudging some of the small white flowers placed carefully on the surface with his wand.

One of the fairies swooped down from where it had been humming dreamily on its perch to peer at the little figurine of Dean, which was holding hands with Ginny's miniature and grinning happily. The fairy giggled and placed a kiss on tiny Dean's cheek as it hovered over the cake, then chattered angrily as tiny Ginny chased it away with her bouquet held high, her feet leaving tiny holes in the icing as she ran off the dais and onto the cake itself. Harry glared at the lot of them before sighing and holding his hand near the surface so that the miniature Ginny could grab onto his finger and crawl onto his palm, the edges of her golden gown dripping with sweet icing while she shook a tiny fist in the direction of the snickering fairies.

"Don't do that again," he growled at both her and the fairies as he replaced the figurine back beside Dean's worried one. He considered the pockmarked surface of the cake and then reached for his wand, smoothing it over before cleaning the frilly hem of the figurine's dress. She gave him a brilliant smile before tucking her hand into Dean's arm and looking up in his face.

"Unc' Harry?" The little voice piped up beside him and Harry looked down to see Fern grinning up at him. "Cake?"

"Not yet. Soon," he assured her, and banished the traces of icing off his hand before reaching down to pick her up. She was such a plump, happy child and she hugged him around his neck, half-choking him before looking down at the figurines on the cake.

"Deeen! Ginneeee!" She yelled and pointed; the miniatures waved back. "Blood' hell!"

Ginny's miniature suddenly looked very guilty and hung her head a little as Harry shot her an incredulous stare.

"Er. Fernie?" Fern looked at Harry questioningly. "Those... that's not for little girls to say, dearheart."

"Hell?" She tested and he shook his head. "No hell?"

"No," he said firmly, which meant that for the better part of an hour, his darling Fern went around greeting the people familiar to her with a 'bloody hell'. Hermione was mortified and Ron tried very hard to look scolding, but the effect was destroyed by his amused expression. By the time the real Ginny and Dean finally popped in to the joyous roars of their dinner guests, he was sitting in the very back of the cleared seating area, Hope and Fern both snuggled in his lap.

"Uncle Harry," Hope said, as Fern gave a massive yawn; Harry covered her little mouth with one hand, in case one of the fairies got any funny ideas. "I love you, Uncle Harry. And your cakes and stuff, I love those too."

"I love you too, Hope," Harry said, a little mystified. "You know I do."

"Yes, but, Io says you like her family too! And you like her daddy!" Hope turned to look at him, blinking rapidly and Harry realised that she was on the brink of tears; he was very surprised, to say the least. Fern was now fully asleep in the crook of his arm, oblivious to her sister's apparent agony. "But I love you first, ok?"

"Hope," he started and she looked down at her clasped hands, pouting fully. She looked very much like her father when Hermione paid him no attention for awhile. "Hope. I do like her and her brother... and I _really_ like her dad," here, Hope seemed ready to burst into tears, "but there is only one Hope for me to love."

Hope frowned a little, trying to figure this out. Then her brow cleared, impending tears drying in an instant.

"That's me!" she yelled and Fern jumped at her voice, looking cross. "Sorry, Fernie. Uncle Harry loves me!"

"Love Fernie too," Fern said with a deep lack of concern and fell right back to sleep.

"Why would you think that, Hope?" Harry asked, shifting Fern a little so that his arm wouldn't cramp up too much. The baby mumbled and nearly rolled out of his lap; he caught her deftly with one hand and tucked her back into her proper space.

"Because you're always over Io's big house. More than me," Hope said, looking up in his face. "And you make them muffins and biscuits."

"That I do."

"And she says you always help her daddy with something in his room, but she said you laugh in there with him, so--"

"Everything okay?" Hermione asked gently, reaching out to lift her youngest and pull Hope away to have something to eat as Harry silently thanked his stars for the Hermione’s lovely timing. Fern was limp in her mother's hands as they walked towards the front table; not for the first time, Harry marvelled at the ultimate trust that children placed in their caregivers.

He also thought how much children saw and heard. Sneaky little buggers.

***

"Io hears us laughing together," Harry whispered to Draco as he lay face-down in the large bed. Draco, lying on his side with one arm bent to prop up his head, smiled, running one hand slowly down the center of Harry's back. They were naked, comfortable together; they had not had sex as yet and Harry figured that they might not, not tonight... and there was nothing wrong with that. They could just lie here and Draco could keep moving his hand like that and kiss Harry on the shoulder like that and everything would be just fantastic.

Or they could have sex, nothing was wrong with that either; Harry wriggled under Draco's tickling fingers.

"I can move my suite farther. But I want to be close to them, when they're so young," Draco told him sombrely and Harry nodded, rolling onto his side to mirror Draco's position. "You probably think I'm an over-protective father."

Harry shook his head slowly, reaching out to brush Draco's fine hair from his forehead. Io had the exact same hair, while Ricky's was thicker and wilder. Hermione had joked that Ricky looked very much like Harry, as if he could have been his own son. Harry found that this idea was a really attractive one.

"No. I don't think so." He touched Draco's mouth with his fingers; Draco parted his lips and sucked on Harry's finger, drawing a moan from him.

"Hmmm. You always taste as if you've been swimming in sugar."

"Ministry function tomorrow, I’ve been working all day on those," Harry laughed. " _Someone_ in the Potions laboratory recommended me to cater. I'll have to find out who it is and thank them."

"They did it only to get in your good graces, watch and see. They'll be all over you and you won't be able to escape." Draco lunged at him and they rolled together, struggling playfully and laughing until Harry felt Draco's hard cock pressing against his.

"Escape is over-rated," he murmured in Draco's ear. "Try to put up a decent Silencing Charm this time, Malfoy."

***

Harry patiently listened to the Minister's speech and smiled as Draco made his way to the podium to make his presentation; this fancy dinner was really a sort of long meeting to bring all the departments up to date. Hermione had already presented for her department and had left to go back home to Ron, who had surprisingly offered to host Io and Ricky for a play-date by himself; Harry had promised to bring back some pastries for her.

He was in the midst of doing this at the back of the large hall, placing a few sugar-dusted treats in a small box, when someone pressed up against his back. His eyes flew to low stage up in front, where Draco stood, staring back at him. The Ministry workers muttered to each other at Draco’s falter and he gave a small, charming smile, collecting his poise admirably and regaining the attention of his colleagues. Harry shoved back against the person and turned to give them the sharp edge of his tongue.

Frank stood there, a very slight sneer on his face.

"Harry--"

"Fuck off," Harry said roughly. "I don't want to hear it. Go away, leave me alone. And fuck off."

"I left her for you," Frank said in a non-sequitur, eyes fixed on Harry's face. "My wife. Isn't that what you wanted? Isn't that what you've always asked me for? Now you have it."

"Oh, thanks." Harry stepped away as Frank reached for him. "But there's just one problem. I don't want _you_."

Instead of looking put out, Frank's sneer melted into a sympathetic smile.

"And who do you want? _Malfoy_? You fall in love so easily, Harry, because you don't know what you want." He tilted his head and reached for Harry again, resting his hand on his shoulder as if giving him helpful advice. Harry felt his entire body tense at the touch. "Listen to me. I know you. You've always wanted a family and think you can get an instant one out of Malfoy's, but you'll always have a fight from his wife. You'll never replace her as the children's mother, not matter how much you butter them up with sweets." His smile was so sincere now; Harry blinked at him as his voice dropped to a whisper, not focusing on the polite applause as Draco wrapped up his speech. "He'll tire of you. Just like he did with his wife when he sent her away... and he'll do the same to you. Look."

He motioned with his chin and Harry turned to see Draco walking past curtained-off corridor, a frown on his face as he headed towards them. A small pale hand reached out from behind the thick curtain, yanking him behind it. Harry set off as if on auto-pilot, skirting the edges of the room, his mind buzzing with the recalled image of that hand; it had a peacock feather fan hanging by a chain around the wrist.

He slipped behind the curtain into the dimly lit passageway, Frank close on his heels. Draco was backed up into a deep window alcove by the slender form of Antonia, his hands limp at his sides even as they kissed deeply. She stepped away, flinging a vindictive smile back at them, her lips shining; Draco was looking at her intently, not even noticing Harry.

"Oh, Harry," Frank sighed.

Harry stared at them and then dropped his gaze to the ground, not seeing the marbled flooring. Frank's hand squeezed his shoulder in commiseration and Harry lifted his hand to rest on it, squeezing it lightly.

Frank winced as Harry's grip got tighter and tighter, wrenching his hand away, still holding it in a painful grip.

"Harry--"

"I want you to listen to me." Harry's voice was dark and he could barely hear the applause behind them as another department-head started his presentation in the main hall. "I will only say this once. You've strung me along for so long and _this is where it end_ s." Frank tried to pull away, but Harry yanked him back. "You don't really know me at all. Come near me again and I will show you what I learned in a war. Talk to me again and... and I will take your head and melt it from your shoulders. And I can _do_ that."

Frank's eyes were wide and Harry realised that his magic was invading the other man's skin, pulling it taut. He breathed deeply, reeling his magic close to himself again; Frank sucked in a desperate breath of air and stepped back, his eyes flickering to Antonia fretfully. Harry rolled his eyes and marched over to where Draco was still staring at his ex-wife, his mouth smeared with her lipstick. Harry glared at her and she took an unthinking step away, as if he had bared his teeth instead.

"You must think I'm a fool, because I don't confront anyone, because I like a peaceful life and my 'little' job," he said to her and Antonia's nostrils flared. Harry grasped his wand and pointed it at Draco's mouth, banishing away every trace of the blood-red smears. He seemed to get most of the potion-infused lipstick before it seeped even more into Draco's skin; Draco squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his hand against his temple. "Don't test me," Harry continued to her in that same low voice, getting angrier and angrier by the minute. It seemed as if he had endured enough from these amateurs. He had not fought in a war to be _thwarted_ by these juvenile tactics. "You see me and you think that if you push, I won't push back, but don't _test_ me."

"But I need... Draco is--" Antonia started and Harry made an angry exasperated sound, cutting her off with a chopping motion of his hand.

"I pity you," he told her and her eyes were large and dark with shock. "You're so busy trying to squeeze money out of _him_ , you're missing out on your children, how amazing they are." He looked between Frank and Antonia, and shook his head. It seemed as if he had shaken off his normal, easygoing guise of baker and regressed to his role as a fighter in a war, something that he had carefully packed away as part of his past. But he would drag it up, any damn time, because he was fighting for Draco and the children.

This thought actually drew him up short. He was _fighting_ for them, and he would do it for as long as they would have him. He could feel Draco's gaze resting on him.

"Go away," he told the two of them irritably. “You’re annoying us and when Draco gets annoyed, he starts throwing hexes."

"He's right. Do as he says," Draco said faintly, but still sounding as if he wanted to laugh. When they had been younger, this mocking tone had always made Harry feel belittled and he was glad to note that Draco had not lost his touch. Antonia Apparated away first, whatever foolish plans she and Frank had cooked up together obviously failing miserably. Frank stared at them and Harry folded his arms, leaning against Draco and feeling Draco's arm curl around his shoulders. Frank drew himself up and gave them a nod that aimed for curtness and failed, Apparating away briskly.

Harry pushed his glasses up onto his hair and scrubbed his face with his hand, the adrenaline draining away and leaving him feeling exhausted. Now that was all over, he was feeling a bit embarrassed that he had let himself get so angry; he really hated making a scene.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, turning to look up at Draco, whose expression was unreadable. "Draco? What is it? Is the potion still in your system?"

"Do you have any idea of how hot you are when you're being forceful and threatening?" Draco muttered, running his hand through his hair. "I'm hard enough to drill through this wall behind me. Come on, then," he said, grabbing onto Harry's wrist. "Get us home and into bed, please."

“But… the function—“

“ _Home_ , Harry.”

 _Home_. A thrill of pleasure ran through Harry as Draco dragged him close, kissing him deeply. Harry moaned in his mouth and grabbed onto his shoulders, noting with delight that it was _indeed_ possible to Apparate while kissing someone else passionately. He got them to the Manor, feeling the wards part for them both.

His concentration was obviously shot though, for he heard a delicate throat-clearing behind them as soon as the _pop_ cleared out of their ears; they both froze.

He had Apparated them to the Manor, alright; but they had ended up in the smallest sitting room on the ground floor, instead of Draco’s room on the second. Narcissa Malfoy was perched on a large comfortable chair near the fireplace, a thick shawl thrown over her knees and a small pleased expression flitting over her thin face.

"Mother, hello," Draco breathed as Harry extricated himself in mortification. "How are you?"

"I'm well," she answered with a faint smirk. She obviously wasn't, her face too pale with her illness, but she seemed to be enjoying their discomfort mightily. "The Weasleys brought the children home some time ago. I suppose Io is still waiting to say goodnight." Her smile grew softer. "To you both."

"Thanks for telling us," Harry said gently. "Er... we'll be right up."

"Good night." Her voice floated behind them as they exited the sitting room quickly, making their way hand in hand to the suites that Draco and his children occupied. Harry figured he could navigate this place in his sleep by now, and what an amazing thought that was. Draco paused outside the main passage to kiss Harry deeply, before turning into the children's short, cheerful hall and opening Io's door as silently as he could.

"Daddy," Io said sleepily. Ricky was sprawled beside her in his relaxed little boy fashion, his dark hair curling almost completely off the covers as he lay with his head to the foot of the bed. Io was tucked underneath, sitting up a little to bestow a kiss on her father's cheek. Harry was lifting Ricky to carry him to his own room, when Io called to him, beckoning him close. "Good night," she said shyly, and Harry bent, his hand spread over Ricky's back to steady him as he leaned close, accepting a good night kiss as well.

"Good night, Io," he said, feeling his heart grow large in his chest. It seemed near bursting when he set Ricky to sleep as well, watching him roll over onto his side and stick his thumb in his mouth.

"Frank said that I would never replace the children's mother," Harry told Draco as they finally, slowly undressed each other in Draco’s room, touching and tasting. "I know that, but... this might seem stupid, but I want to be a part of their lives." Harry arched as Draco bit at that sensitive curve where neck met shoulder, his hand tangling in Draco's hair.

"I don't want you to replace her. We don’t need that," Draco murmured, breathing deeply as Harry's hand slipped in between their bodies, grasping onto his cock with determination. "And I want you to be a part of _my_ life as well, you prat. You'll have to bake for me regularly. You know I love chocolate. Those are my sti--stipul--oh god, that's what I want."

"If you'll have me," Harry said, smiling as their bodies slipped against one another. Draco paused, looking at him with a strange intensity, before nodding slowly.

"Yes." It was a heady promise in a single word, and Harry wrapped around him tightly, kissing him until they could hardly breathe.

  
 _Epilogue_

Io peered out of a window in the Hogwarts Express as it chugged slowly to Platform 93/4. Hope's face was pressed beside hers, looking for their parents.

"Oh, there's Fern," Hope pointed out, and Io nodded at the distinct copper flash of Fern's long braid. "Can't she go anywhere without reading? For crying out loud." Sure enough, Fern's nose was buried in a large book, not even looking up as the train let out a whoosh of steam and a sharp whistle.

"She'll be sure to get into Ravenclaw next year with me," Io said smugly as they filed out with the rest of the students and Hope made a face. "Just because you're allergic to the library doesn't mean everyone else is."

"They should be," Hope said with a massive grin, her curly red hair whipping in her face as they stepped off the train. "I mean, they'll have loads more fun that way."

Io snorted and followed Hope to the Weasleys, receiving a hug from her mother and a grin from Mr. Weasley. Fern raised her eyes from her book and jerked her chin at them before delving back into it.

"Fernie, you're going to need binding one day, just like a book," Ricky said, appearing out of nowhere, dressed in a black t-shirt that had a large golden Snitch printed on the front, _catch me if you can_ written above the curled wings. He was tall for his age, and slim; but his facial resemblance to Harry was quite surprising. Even his hair was properly messy and most people assumed that he was Harry's real son; he and Harry rarely corrected them. "Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Hey, Hope. Io, where's your trunk? Oh, never mind, I see it."

"Go away, foolish boy," Fern said crossly, hiding her blush behind her book, but Ricky had already darted away, slipping effortlessly through the throng. He was quite the chivalrous little gentleman, and Father had bemoaned the obvious fact that he would be sorted into Gryffindor next year.

"Hey, Dad," Io said as Harry came up and hugged her around her shoulders, exchanging warm hello's with his friends; Hope jumped in for a hug as well, laughing as Harry pulled her hair and Fern snapped her book shut to march over to him.

"Her birthday. Next week," Ron intoned with the air of one who had heard this many times before. Fern looked up at Harry and raised her eyebrows.

"I'll be in to have a look at your portfolio, Uncle Harry," she said earnestly. "Last year's cake was fantastic, but this year," and here she spread her hands with the flair of a film-director, her book tucked under her arm, "I think it shall be _butterflies_."

Io covered her mouth with one hand and hid her smile. Hope pursed her lips, but Fern was so caught up in her dream-cake that she didn't notice.

"Got it," Harry said seriously, his green eyes twinkling as he dropped a slight wink at Io and Hope. "Ricky, here," he called, raising his wand to levitate Io's trunk over to where they were standing and shrinking it to place in the pocket of his robes. "Ready? Your father's home pretending he hasn't been in the biscuits. More than half are gone, I swear."

"He _always_ does that," Ricky said with a sigh. "Dad, you need to stop baking so much for him. Or stop the house-elves from telling him where they're hidden. Tell him he's getting fat, or something."

"You want him to hex me like last week?" Harry said in horror. "My toes have only just grown back, thanks. And besides, he's only gained a _little_ weight. Ron, I'll be over later for the game, right? Give us a hug, Fernie...ow, you jabbed me with the book."

"Sorry," Fern said, sounding far from apologetic as she inspected her book for damage. Harry rolled his eyes a little and Io hooked her arm through his elbow as Ricky grabbed onto his other arm. Io looked up at him; he was so different from her Father, calm and easygoing, and yet, no matter how much her parents argued, they were firmly dedicated to each other. She was going to work this summer in the bakery, accompanied by Hope, and she found she could hardly wait.

"Let's go," Harry said contentedly, and then Apparated them home.

 _fin_

* * *

  
 **ETA** : [](http://animeartistjo.livejournal.com/profile)[**animeartistjo**](http://animeartistjo.livejournal.com/) had asked for a drabble in this same...'universe', with Fern and Ricky:

Fern made a little _meep_ as the Sorting Hat plopped over her head, gripping the edges of the stool she was in as the Hat muttered in her ear.

"Hmmm," the musty Hat pondered. "A _Weasley_ intent on studying? _Another_ new one."

"Weasleys aren't stupid!" Fern snapped in a low voice, ducking her head as the Headmistress shot her a sharp look. "My dad and mum are smart, my mum especially and my uncles are so clever--"

"I didn't say they were stupid, child," the Hat interrupted with a low chuckle. "But they are not really renown for their love of the library, save few. How quickly you defended them!"

"I'd do it again, too," Fern mumbled and jumped when the hat roared _Gryffindor_! Oh, she had wanted to be in Ravenclaw with Io! Now she was stuck with _Ricky_ , and she huffed as she sat beside him, his grey eyes twinkling at her as he ruffled his dark hair.

"What on earth were you up there arguing with it for? Although it took a long time for me too," Ricky smiled, pushing over a platter for her to serve her food out of. She could see her sister laughing over in Slytherin; Hope was far too sly to be in any other house. "It was _so_ hilarious when it cried 'A MALFOY in GRYFFINDOR??!'. I thought it was going to choke on its thread."

"Didn't your Dad say that your Father was going to weep if you were sorted to Gryffindor?" Fern smiled at the thought of her Uncle Harry consoling Uncle Draco.

"Yeah." Ricky laughed out loud, eyes crinkling at the corners like Uncle Harry's. "But he'll feel better after I get Seeker, yeah?"

Fern thought about it. "Yeah," she agreed. Maybe she would do quite okay in this house.

Now, to get Ricky into the library....


End file.
